


Vampire Hunter D: The Exiled

by BriarCrow



Category: Vampire Hunter D
Genre: Crime Solving, Detective, Dracula - Freeform, Dragons, Epic Battles, Gothic, Horror, Journey, Magic, Mystery, OC, Other, Romance, Science Fiction, Vampire Hunter D - Freeform, Vampires, original - Freeform, romantic, villian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriarCrow/pseuds/BriarCrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D is hired by a traveling circus to investigate the death of a dancer, when she is found drained of blood in the room of another performer. All fingers point to Amun Crete, who has suspiciously disappeared before being questioned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Last Breath of the Dead Forest

# **Last Breath of the Dead Forest.**

 

The wind blew gently through charred remnants of what was once a beautiful forest. Black corpses of trees came into view from the early morning fog, reaching upwards to the sky with mangled branches. There were no smoldering embers, as the enemy fires that torched it had died out years ago. Even after so long, there were no hints of budding new life among the burnt earth. The cackled call of a black bird wasn’t so much a return of new life, as it was a herald for beasts to descend upon the carrion of what was once the majestic wood. Trapped at a fixed point in time, the beauty of its previous flora or fauna never took root here anymore; It was barren, and forgotten, even to Mother Nature…

The forest had drawn it’s last breath nearly a century ago, yet the trails were kept fresh by monsters of the Nobility. Werewolves, Mutants, Stone-men, Basilisks… All of them, drawn to its trauma and sadness. Instinct in their manufactured DNA practically called out for the aura that permeated the air. Villages had popped up nearby over the years, but no one came within miles of this place. By now, travelers and town folk were ignorant of its origin but remained well aware of the danger. It was enough to allow this hallowed husk of land the dignity of one last secret…

At first, only metal hooves kicking up the soot-covered ground could be heard, before a wash of inky blackness materialized from the dry sienna background. He sat atop his mount as though he had been made for it. His dark coat billowed out in tattered edges along the cyborg horse’s flanks. The fabric was clearly over worn and uncared for, yet fitting. A swatch of cloth concealed his features from the eyes down. A thin wide-brimmed hat crowned the black hair that cascaded down his back, covering the sheath of an impressively long sword.

The mechanical steed loyally trudged onward despite the skittering of shadows from the corners of its eyes. As the rider and his mount slipped among the ashen landscape, it was difficult to tell where the shadows of the forest ended and where he began. If anyone were more akin to this place of sadness then surely it would be him; the angel of death himself, the Vampire  
Hunter known only as D.

He halted his mount when its rhythmic clop changed in tone and began to hit stony pavement instead of blackened earth. It became clear that he was no vagrant wanderer, his purpose was now only a short distance away. 

A strange voice broke the silence, “It should be straight ahead. This stone is the flooring of the foyer.” 

The complexity in the vocal range gave one the impression that it certainly wasn’t human. More like an otherworldly creature attempting what it thought a human might sound like, garish and gravel-filled like an old man. A sensitive ear could pinpoint the voice to the black rider‘s left hand. The cyborg horse obediently trotted forward only to be stopped again by a commanding twist of the reigns. 

“What’s the matter? We‘re almost to the catacomb entrance,” the graveled voice questioned. He wasn’t used to his master hesitating.

“We aren’t alone,” D responded, his voice deep and flowing out like water. 

The path ahead continued at an awkward angle and disappeared into the hazy unknown. The fog made it difficult to see beyond a few feet and rarely lifted here. Even when the sun was at it‘s zenith, it only served to bathe the landscape in a soured hue of umber like a charcoal drawing on yellowed parchment. He had stopped at the bend however and stared off into a seemingly unsuspicious group of tall weeds. He was sure there was a presence just out of view. It was powerful and old, that much he was certain of.

“This place was once a grand summer palace for the Noble Vidraru. I’m sure there’s still some residual essence that draws all sorts of unsavory creatures to it,” suggested the voice from his left palm. 

D raised his hand to the sky with only a simple command: “Check.”

With a reluctant sigh, a great gust of wind shook the withered branches around them into a crackling symphony. Dust and dead leaves kicked up and swirled around as the stagnant air was sucked into D’s palm, before falling back down around him and his horse. With the air now thick with dust, the importance of the cloth that covered his face became obvious.

“Hmm, tastes leathery. Must be a fire dragon… nothing you haven’t dealt with before, I’m sure,” The graveled countenance responded with confidence. 

D continued on in silence, kicking the flanks of his horse into the weeds. After some time of rutted ground, an eddied pathway of overgrown thicket thinned out and stretched onward into a huge clearing. Broken stone pillars littered the area, with mounds of black earth gouged up by some angry ancient force. Weeds tried desperately to cover the scars of what must have been a palace of opulent beauty. There had once been fortifications and hidden passageways that had lead here. but now this place stood bare to the elements. In the wake of its siege, everything of value had been pillaged long ago and held no secrets… or so everyone assumed.

D stopped his horse and dismounted. His quiet footsteps made a straight line towards a broken flight of stairs that led down into a darkened underground tomb. Edged in the torn stone, pale sculptures of angels flanked the entrance. Their delicately carved hands covered their faces, as was tradition in Noble homes. Some speculated it was an attempt at shielding the eyes of God from their cruelty to mankind. Nobles were notorious for this kind of hypocritical and conflicting décor, and very few understood why they chose to surround themselves with it. Professors from the capital would relish the opportunity to photograph such beautifully preserved examples.

Now, however, the angels served as the last standing guardians of the entrance to the catacombs. The underground was written to have miles of tunnels that scattered out along the valley to the west, and deep into the frozen impenetrable wastelands of the mountainous north. It was said to have originally served as the resting place of the Noble Vidraru’s ancestors, and the prized members of his army who had proven their loyalty in battle. 

Corpses with less ceremonial burials littered the catacombs now; grave robbers that ventured in against their better judgment, spurned by rumors of limitless treasure found in the tunnels. Most had been met only with countless booby-traps, or had become lost in its labyrinthine design, only to starved to death or worse yet; became a meal for one of its many still living residents… 

The smell of fresh death wafted up from the darkness. most likely the leftovers from the noble-loyal monsters that plagued the underground. Though their masters may have long since abandoned this fallen stronghold, their hunger of human flesh was still very much intact.

Though warned by the local village, the darkness below still served as the hunter’s only interest. His pace casually came to a halt when a familiar scent-- not coming from the depths below, caught the air in his nose. In a flash, the gentle curve of his sheathed blade lashed out in an arch behind him. His head tilted upward as he took in the size of what had been following him stealthily across the clearing.

“Holy hell, it’s a Greater Dragon! What is one doing this far south!?” the graveled voice called out in surprise. The left hand’s prediction of a fire dragon‘s scent in the air was sorely underestimated. Though close cousins, Greater Dragons were almost 6 times the size and highly territorial. Hunted almost to extinction and driven to seek shelter among the mostly uninhabitable mountains, their kind had rarely been seen outside of the high north for thousands of years. How lucky for D.

The massive body of the beast spread upwards across the sunrise as it reared up in a snarling growl. Its agility was cleverly hidden by a massive frame, narrowly missing D’s lightening quick sword that would have otherwise splayed open its head in one motion. Piercing emerald green eyes sat atop a narrow maw of razor sharp teeth, that were now fixed to its prey. 

The dragon gave a vicious roar as it snapped at him, only to be met with a residual image. He vaulted to the side and slashed at its stiff hide. The curved blade wedged into a thick armored plate, and refused to pull free.

“I’m going to catch hell for making that mistake but hey, you can handle this thing. It‘s just another big dumb animal, right?“ the left hand called out sheepishly.

The hunter was no doubt, not expecting it’s hide to have quite such resistance. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice however, he would have to work for another chance.

D was easily batted away by a flick of the creature’s heavy tail, leaving his sword imbedded in its flank. Flung several yards, he took a tumble on the stony ground, before vaulting to his feet in a run. The Hunter could instantly feel the dragon’s hot breath at his back as it chased after him. What had once been silent footsteps, now cast aside the element of stealth and thundered across the broken clearing with a barreling delight, much like that of an elephant. 

The dragon gave no time between its attacks to offer a window of opportunity, and perpetually kept him on the defensive. He dashed to a chunk of pillared stairs at the edge of the clearing making to the top in only a few steps. The dragon snarled angrily and reared up on its hind legs before crashing the brunt of it’s head at the crumbling base pillars, sending the structure down in a cloudy pile of rubble. 

It still gave D enough height to jump from, and leapt at the dragon’s side, making an attempt to grab his sword. Only his long fingernails grazed the hilt before being snatched backwards. The monster had clamped down on his wind-blown coat, and dragged him back for more than just a mouth full of fabric, but flesh as well.

D twisted gracefully to face his attacker: An expertly flung wooden needle stabbed its gleaming green eye, causing the creature to reel backwards with a bark of pain. Armored plates that even D couldn’t slice through was quite the impressive defense, though eyes always proved the Achilles’ Heel. The creature wailed and swiped at its eye, trying to scrape out the object with a bulky claw. The distraction served him well, as D dashed across the stony ruins. 

The hunter was several yards away before the behemoth turned around with an eye closed. Its jaws were foaming and open, eagerly awaiting fresh blood. A deeper look in the one good eye revealed that the dragon may have taken that last retaliation personally... D’s fingers took to the inside of his coat, and held another thin wooden needle at the ready.

“Let me belch some fire his way, that ought to scare him off,” suggested the disembodied voice.

But D bided his time, and watched the creature’s threatening gestures. It snarled and stomped at the ground towards him, but didn’t move any closer. It had seemed hell bent on killing him a moment ago, yet now only kept him at bay. 

Perhaps the dragon had a nest that resided down below. He didn’t blame the creature for being so fiendishly protective. Just about everything about a dragon was highly valuable. From its egg shell, to its brains, blood, and bone, wealthy merchants and medicine men paid top dollar for the raw material... Nearly hunted to extinction over the centuries, their fearful aggression towards humans had become understandably ingrained into their instincts. 

Still, it was an obstacle in the hunter’s way and it needed to be dealt with before moving on. He may not have any personal ill will towards it but he had no qualm about killing an endangered creature, maybe even the last of it’s kind, to continue his journey.

Just as he began to pull his hand from his coat to summon a fiery storm from his palm, a feminine voice filled the air, “What do you think you’re doing?” 

The greater dragon’s expression seemed to soften slightly as it turned back towards the airy voice. Lumbered footsteps shook the ground as it moved across the clearing and swiveled its head down to a young woman at the entrance to the staircase. During the scuffle with the beast, D hadn’t notice her emergence from the catacombs.

The woman touched his scaly head and inspected its closed eye. From the mouth that gave a deafening roar moments earlier, now only a gentle croon could be heard. She spoke in a strange language when she addressed the creature. Soft and earthy, her words stilled the giant as she motherly plucked out the needle from its eye. She petted the scaly trunk of it’s snout as it blinked again with cautious ease.

“I believe this is yours.” 

With a glare, she threw the needle at D’s head. It was on a sure course to his left eye, had he not caught it between his fingers and placed it back in his coat pocket. She didn’t show any hint that she was impressed. 

“Pity, I always believed in an ‘eye for an eye…’ Come forward, sir. The dragon is still at my hands,” she reassured him. 

He walked across the stone ruins, only to be stopped by a vicious snarl from the previously docile seeming animal.

“Doco! Ashteru, mein! Behave yourself.” The accented words caught the beast’s ear, and the dragon stepped back with a defeated growl. The woman walked intentionally without a feminine gait. Her slim body was covered in a grey suit, and draped with a short white capelet that hid much of her upper body. Two sheathed blades crisscrossed at her lower back.

“I don‘t blame you for attacking him. He is rather…intimidating in his playful moods.”

She smiled a sideways smile at the Hunter. He seemed a little worse for wear, despite still standing tall and calm. A tousle with a greater dragon would have easily killed a normal man, so he gained some respect from her for not running like a terrified child at the first opportunity.

“He’s your pet?” The slight inflection in D’s voice gave away a hint of surprise.

“What an offensive word! Doco is one half of me; my beloved.” 

She scratched the dragon under his chin. He allowed it, but still kept a focused eye on D. A gentle nudge of her hand, and a few commanding words, steered his thorny head away from the rider in black. She knew well that breaking their sight, broke their train of thought. At her hands the vicious beast was turned into nothing more than a trained dog.

“If only men obeyed so easily,” she muttered to herself. 

A cackling laughter drew her eyes to D’s left hand. It appeared that her hearing was finely tuned. His left hand’s voice was usually too low an audible pitch for humans to notice. Her eyes looked him over suspiciously, before drawing her attention to the dragon’s side.

“It seems you‘ve all manner of weapons lodged in my friend, sir.” Her hand grazed across the flank of the greater dragon, and rolled her fingers around the hilt of the long sword that was still imbedded in its thick armor. With a fierce jerk-- unexpected from such a slender hand, the sword was pulled free. “Doco” didn’t seem to feel any pain. She slid a gloved hand along the clean fissure of the creature’s hide and inspected it closely.

“Impressive strike… You almost hit flesh. How fortunate for you, that it was only scale that was pierced.” With a toss, the blade clattered along the stone ground towards his feet. Demonstrating her accuracy with the little wooden needle before, she could have easily skewered him with his own sword, if she wished. A careless throw indicated how she didn’t see him as much of a threat, with or without his main weapon.

“And why does that make me fortunate?” D left his sword where it had fallen, not yet letting his guard down to retrieve it. The woman may not have seen much in him to be concerned about, but the feeling was not yet mutual. 

Something primal in her eyes flickered as she responded with the same half smile from before, “Because if any real harm had come to him, I would have killed you.”

Maybe it was the matter of fact way that she said it, or the dissipation of a killing lust in the air, that cause him to finally bend down and take hold of his long sword. D smoothly returned it to the sheath on his back. 

“Smart man... May I have the pleasure of your name?” she asked politely.

The hunter removed the scarf around his face, revealing white-skinned features of breathtaking beauty. Slightly aquiline nose, high set cheekbones…a vision of grace, that caused her heart to sink in her chest. Many had seen his face and instantly succumbed to the quickened pace of fevering desire. For her, it was unwelcome, and she recoiled at the sensation. It made her want to draw the cape around her even tighter, feeling strangely exposed to the piercing nature of his eyes. 

“D” he responded simply. “You are Amun Crete; star performer of the Bedlam Outlands Company?”

She tried to speak, but was finding it difficult remembering how to breath. “I-I… suppose that would be me. My, The Vampire Hunter D… how honored am I to be tracked down by the likes of someone so distinguished among his peers?” She replied rhetorically, remembering herself quicker than expected.

“Suppose?” the word caught on his ear, as though he hadn’t heard the rest.

“I’ve just never heard my name with such an official sounding title at the end. I assure you, the Bedlam Outlands would much rather forget I ever existed, let alone lay claim to me in such a… ‘professional’ manner.” 

Crete had been a part of the traveling circus act for the last few years. The Bedlam Outlands Company toured around in armored caravans across the frontier sectors, inspiring and frightening patrons of villages and towns with their shocking and death defying feats of courage and beautiful dances. Isolated pockets of human settlements on the frontier were starved for entertainment. Even the slightest theatrical display of tricks and lights were enough to fish the coin from their pockets all too easily. Their show included acrobats, elemental conjuring, a dance troupe of beautiful women, and for the grand finale, the “taming” of a certain ferocious legendary beast.

Many had never seen a greater dragon, since his species was a dying breed. As their image became villains from popular hero tales, and the medicinal quality of their flesh becoming the popular ingredient in hundreds of different potions, mass hunting endangered their numbers into less than 50 in the world. When he roared on que, many people simply fled from their seats, never to even see the rest of the show. 

“I’ve been hired to see the one responsible for the murder of the girl Rei’el, brought to justice. They have asked that I bring you back to give you a fair trial--” 

“Humans and fairness; that‘s rich!” she spat out, sarcastically. “I’m sure their ‘fair trial’ will include plenty of torture for my confession, so that they may kill me with a clear conscience, correct?” 

D stood quiet, and didn’t bother finishing his statement. He of all people, knew how hard it was to work alongside humans. Acceptance and fairness rarely descended on those who carried the slanderous label of “Dunpeal,” and despite his many contributions, his well known lineage never allowed him a favorable reception anywhere for very long.

One of the performers, a gifted dancer named Rei'el, had been found drained of blood in Crete's barrack, two puncture marks at her neck. Not wanting to deal with the inevitable "witch hunt" that would ensue, she had fled with Doco in the cover of night. Faustino, the Ringmaster and owner of the entertainment company, had wasted no time in hiring D. 

For a troupe that traveled like gypsies across the frontier, their habit of collecting stories had ensnared many tales of D’s other-worldly skill against the creatures of the night. When one of their own had been taken from them, the choice to carry out their judgment had been obvious.

“I’ve been asked not to kill you, unless I‘m left with no other choice.”

Crete gave her sideways smile from earlier and narrowed predatory eyes at D. There was an icy moment of silence before she responded. This time, the air between them had shifted direction into a place far more delicate. 

“I am many things…” she raised her arms away from the swords at her back and up to her head; a shallow gesture of surrender that he didn’t seem to buy for a moment. “I am an entertainer, and a keeper of rare creatures…” Crete gestured to Doco as she carefully chose her words, almost as well as she chose her footsteps. Closing the distance between herself and the hunter, she locked eyes with him while Doco moved at a safe distance around behind the hunter so that his front and back were watched. 

“And yes…I’m also a cold blooded killer.” Her hands crept up to the tightly braided pale white hair at her head. She knelt down on her knees before him. 

“But one thing I am not, Hunter D…is a liar. Know this: your services do no justice to that girl. In fact, they hinder it. I didn’t kill her, but I know who did. She was a message to me, and I plan on answering them, loud and clear.” 

“I’ve been paid to find the murderer, and all suspicion points to you. I need evidence to believe you,” he said matter-of-factly. 

“D, watch your back, the big guy isn’t looking too friendly, anymore.” the low gravelly voice warned him. Doco was taking a few more careful steps towards his back, lowering his center of gravity in a crouching position. Poised to attack, like before.

Crete quickly reasserted D’s attention back on her with a scoffed sneer, “Oh come now, you’re a smart man: A talented detective, above the hired thug roughage that make up the hunter class, or so I’ve heard. Couldn’t there be a possibility of a framing? Especially if the suspect was a fugitive of her lesser half’s family?” 

“No wonder you can walk in the daylight. What house do you hail from?” he asked, in a rather archaic manner. No one spoke that way, anymore. Especially if they grew up around humans, who spoke very direct and to the point. Only Nobles spoke like gentle-winded poetry.

“You know far too much about me already, Hunter D…I’m afraid a lady must retain some secrets of her own.” She responded coyly. 

He grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her upwards in one easy motion. Chivalry was not his strong suit during interrogations. He had a job to do, and her sarcasm and pathetic attempts at coquettish behavior had reached it’s limit. This is what she had been waiting for.

Crete was a lanky waif in comparison to his muscle. It was the underestimation of her strength that gave her such easy opportunities like this. In the blink of an eye she contorted her body around his arm, and delivered nearly a thousand pounds of a kick to his collar bone and solar plexus. She twisted out of his vice-like grip with a swift motion that landed her behind him, destroying muscle and tendons in his arm from the graceful movement. 

The figure in white had tangled with the figure in black, and like a dove fleeting from it’s own shadow, vaulted on top of Doco’s head. She felt the wind of a white tipped arc that slashed at her feet, before the dragon snapped at the hunter, causing him to dodge and retreat. She settled into the nape of his long neck, as he lunged his massive frame on top of the highest point in the clearing: the catacomb stairway. The statue’s framework easily cracked from the weight.

“I told you, I’m no liar, Hunter! So at least trust me when I say that if you follow me, you follow your own death!“ bitter emotion clung to her words. 

Doco unfolded the vein-thin wings at his sides and jumped into a great gust of wind-- their orangey hue spread open to the sky, as rider and mount escaped. The staircase collapsed into itself, sealing the only catacomb entrance for miles around. D reached his one good hand into his coat, and out came a quick toss of something wooden and thin, in the direction of the departed company that disappeared as a tiny speck into the monstrous shadow that now eclipsed the sun.

“Think you got her?” asked the gravelly voice, that had kept quiet up until now. 

D turned his eyes from the ever decreasing sight of the dragon, and onto his left hand. Grabbing his forearm, and twisting it to look at his palm, he ignored it’s question and asked one of his own.

“How bad is the damage?” A tiny face formed out of the skin of his palm. A wrinkly, toothless visage with only molded flaps for eyes, had the distinct look of an old man. Symbiotes like this one were usually just annoying parasites that hindered movement of the limb they attached to, and were dealt with quickly. To keep one around long enough for it to form part of a consciousness was unheard of. 

“Hmm.. Looks like she cracked your collar bone, and the tendons and muscles of your elbow are shredded. She did a serious number on you for just being a woman. It’s going to take a while to fix with no water around here. I keep telling you, we need to keep more supplies around for this very reason…” It grumbled. 

D traveled light, mostly keeping only what he could carry in his pockets. It served his vagrant life well, except in circumstances like this.

“Was she telling the truth?” his tone a little softer this time, seemingly distracted as he looked to the sky.

“She’s got a funny way of being truthful, since she was playing possum with that whole surrendering bit,” The face snorted bitterly. “She’s just giving us more work to do than I’d rather put into this.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

The face gave a defeated sigh, its ego completely deflated from the day‘s miscalculations. “Maybe… That‘s all I can give you. I wasn‘t hanging on to her for very long before she tried to take your arm off like an apple stem.”

Without responding, D walked back to his horse. The sun would be at its zenith soon, and the wooden needle would surely slow her down enough for him to catch up on horseback. After all, how fast could something so massive fly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome! This fic was created as a humble contribution to the awesome world that is Vampire Hunter D. I gain so much inspiration from the dystopian future that Mr. Hideuiki Kikuchi has been able to weave in over 20 novels, that I could no longer resist the urge to write a story myself. I don't know how many chapters this novella of sorts will be, but I hope you bookmark it and bear with me as I indulge my little pixie heart in the stuff of dreams (or nightmares, in this case). 
> 
> The only characters that are copyrighted are D and Left Hand. All other characters and places contained in this fanfiction are 100% my own creation and have no relation to any other work. I set out to create a story that I would personally would liked to have read. One that includes a compelling three-dimensional heroine who can be seen as D's equal, not his inferior. A person that could bring about his vulnerability, and not just a shade of a female that was only written to make his heroics all the more bright... This is not fluff, this is not an excuse to write pornography, but about the exploration of isolation and struggles of a character like D, and those like him, are faced with in this apocalyptic setting. This is my critique on how society treats outsiders, the suffering of women in all walks of life, the road to true salvation, and the triumph of the human spirit-- even if the body isn't quite human.
> 
> "The children that the world tries to throw away, become the adults that save it."


	2. Reflections that lament the fall of golden leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crete speaks directly to Doco in a different language, understood only between the two of them. Translations aren't necessary for you to follow the story, but if you are curious the translations are located in the bottom chapter notes.

****

# Reflections that lament the fall of golden leaves

 

They landed silently in a grassy clearing nearly 30 miles north of the dead forest. With a heavy soundless flap of his wings, powerful legs made contact with the soft ground. Had she the strength, Crete would have continued on for days, But the imbedded wooden needle in her lung made breathing difficult and it refused to heal before the obstruction was removed. There wouldn’t be a fighting chance for her once nightfall descended, if she didn’t deal with the nuisance now.

The green meadow grasses served as a stark contrast to the dry dead earth that still clung to the dragon’s claws from earlier that morning. His rider’s left hand went under the white cowl that draped over her lithe frame, and came out covered in a light smearing of blood. 

_Damn him…_

She cursed the hunter’s good aim as she used a stiff scale to slide down Doco’s neck, trying to stave off the light-headed feeling that now grew stronger with every moment. This was going to take a while to recover, and it was time that she didn’t want to waste on the ground. The sun would soon be at high-noon and it wasn’t doing her delicate constitution any favors. She was vulnerable-- more so here in the plush expanse of green, than in the dilapidated charcoal drawing of the dead forest. 

Revisiting that place had dredged up memories she would have rather left to rust and crumble in the earth, alongside the ruins’ weed-infested foundation. Like broken sun-bleached pottery, fragments of happy memories had been kicked up, only to reveal tragic endings that clung to the shattered pieces like soft earth.

She had remembered the Vidraru Southern Hold in all its former glory… Marble white floors inlaid with gold had once dusted the delicate skirts and cloaks of Noble kind. Chandeliers hung like twinkling stars strung along spider webs of spun glass across the entire ceiling. They served as the only light for dimly lit parties and grand balls between heavily fortified walls... The feasts of food and drink that were barely touched hinted at their self-mockery, preferring instead the flesh of the chattel that wandered mindlessly among them: Young girls in barely a stitch of clothing meandered about like the walking dead, only to be “sampled” by guests at their leisure until they dropped dead amidst the debauchery of their less than sympathetic masters. 

Yes, she had remembered all too well... To see it in the dilapidated state with fallen walls, broken pillars, and pale statues serving as the hold’s only grave markers did little to ease her conscience. For in her memory, she had danced among them… Her lips had been on a girl or two, greedy for their blood almost as much as she had been for her father’s approving glances...

Doco lowered his head carefully and searched her haggard appearance with an upturned eye. The wound had been distracting in flight, and the usual strong arm that steered his massive head was preoccupied with applying pressure to the wound at her breast. It was uncertain what truth reflected back from that large emerald green eye into hers. Most would see the instincts of a beast answering the call of the scent of blood on the air-- searching for the weakness in her that nature beckoned for him to exploit. She chose instead to see concern in his eyes, and responded with a stern pat on the nose with her usual half smile.

_“Asha Fru’yi ten, Doco...”_

She inspected the crown of horny protrusions on Doco’s head and thumbed the clean cut from D’s blade. It must have happened during their spat, when the fortress lent its forgotten grave as their battle arena… The horn had been cut so cleanly, it gleamed in the light like polished glass. She was not above admitting that his skill as a swordsman was going to be formidable, should they cross paths again. Although the distance she had put between them within the last few hours ensured that they wouldn’t, there was a flicker of sadness at that resolution though she couldn’t understand why.

She also wasn’t above admitting her surprise that Faustino, the circus owner had offered up enough cash for a ‘Class S’ hunter like D. The employ of the hunter D did not come cheap, and the greedy businessman barely allowed enough money to leave his pockets to feed his performers, let alone avenge their deaths in such a grandiose way. 

Though he did have his occasional favorites among the dance troupe. Rei‘el must have been his current bed-warmer… It was a common jest that he treated the girls as his personal harem. “Flowers in the wind” as the troupe was called, had been referred to backstage with a snicker as “Faustino’s on a whim.“ 

While they shared common rooms and often brushed past each other in the cramped confines of the caravan train during travels, Crete didn’t remember saying a word to the girl that she was now accused of killing… She did remember her face, however: Rei’el met all the standards of the troupe: beautiful, young, and gullible enough to leave home at the thought of easy fame and fortune in the capital. Her black hair would twirl about on stage, framing bright red lips as she smiled at the crowd with each turn. That beautiful, blue-black hair that turned into to her death shroud…

Crete couldn’t forget the smell of blood before her eyes caught the crumpled mass at the floor of her quarters. A nervous, slender finger pulled back the curtain of matted hair from the girl’s face, only to reveal eyes wide with their last moments of living terror. A silent scream forever etched on her now pale blood-drained lips… Where most people would faint at the horrible site, Crete simply gave a defeated sigh. Everything in this new life would now be slipping away without her being able to follow it. She had drawn too much attention here, and she had been discovered again.

The way the girl had been positioned in her death throws, was an old custom among Vampires: Her twisted back, and upturned neck like a sacrificial offering to a pagan god, was a lavish invitation among their kind. This was a call to finish what had begun centuries ago, and a warning to what would happen if Crete refused. A small part of her felt some kind of pity for the poor child, Though Crete considered death to be only slightly worse than sacrificing one’s dignity to the lecherous hands of old Faustino. 

Her thoughts began to return to more pressing matters, as Doco nudged his snout against her arm to inspect her again.

_“Luce, ecru?”_

She asked endearingly, albeit a little tired, as she addressed the behemoth. Flying took a lot of energy, and dragons could easily become dehydrated if not given a constant supply of water. It was most likely why they hunted near rivers and oceans, or hid in the eternally snowy mountains. She led him out of the clearing through a thick of trees to the sound of flowing water. Clear and serene, a waterfall cascaded beautifully from a rocky lip above into a giant pool, before slowly trailing off downstream. 

It seemed fairly safe, but it was dangerous to be so close to “wild” water sources; All manner of mutant creatures and monsters took up residence in the darkness of such inviting pools. She took a small vial from under her caplet and poured its contents carefully into the edge of the water. Testing for poisons and essences of water monsters spurned the manufacture of handy little vials. The vials’ inky color turned to green before threading out into the clear water, and she stepped back before giving Doco a motion to approach.

He carefully walked up to the edge and sniffed at the surface, looking around several times before dropping his guard to drink. Despite being the size of a bull elephant, he was a careful and timid animal. He was nervous and leery of taking chances, much like his master… She smiled a little as she watched him gather great mouthfuls before tilting his head towards the heavens, letting the cool drink slide down his long throat.

It always reminded her of how much he looked like the little dipping bird toys that were made in the village of Arseth: Their little mechanical gears rocked back and forth creating a simple example of perpetual motion, had mesmerized little Althea for at least an hour. The memory of having to buy her one just to finally go back to the circus caravan had seemed like such a hindrance then. Now the memory was a treasure…

Giving him a stern pat on the side as he drank his fill, her attention shifted to the task at hand. With a smooth motion she undid the buckle at her shoulder and let the caplet fall to her feet. Slim with an absence of obvious feminine features, the hours of practice and hard labor had taken the voluptuous curves of a woman, and given back a finely sculpted, ambiguous body. The only feminine grace she had kept was the long braid of blonde-white hair that had been wrapped around her shoulders like a scarf. She lifted it over her head and let it fall down to mid-thigh. The braid cascaded into curiously dyed black hair at the end, as though the platinum rope of hair had been accidentally dipped in India Ink.

Crete sat down under the shade of a giant tree by the water’s edge. Taking hold of the high collared body suit, she unzipped it to bare flesh. The dark red bloom of blood that bloomed into the grey fabric had also coated the pearlescent white skin beneath. She felt the tiny protrusion of wood with her finger tips, and wiped away the blood around it. This was going to sting, there was no getting around that...

Removing a small dagger from her boot, she pointed the tip precisely above the wound and cursed D’s name once more before plunging it through the skin. The intensity of sensory nerves firing off in rapid secession to her brain, did little to stop her from digging around the annoying nuisance. Blood spurted from the open wound in protest as her trembling lips refused to cry out from the pain. 

As the dagger clattered to the ground, she quickly dug her long fingernails into the wound before it could close up, and pulled out the rough wooden needle with an exalted breath. Roughly hewn, it’s carved length was ordinary and simple. However, the ends demonstrated the skill of a steady hand and scalpel-like precision. Her blood smeared across the reflective part of silver that coated each tip.

 _No wonder the damn thing hurt so badly…_

She thought, angry at it’s intelligent craftsmanship before tossing it away. The wound had already begun to feel better, despite the new hot sting of super human healing that blanketed the nerve endings from skin to lung.

It was one of the burdens of being of noble blood…one could heal quickly, but if surgery were required to dislodge a bullet or a broken blade, anesthetic didn’t work on immortal kind. The ability to hyper-regenerate made their metabolic rate too fast for any numbing drugs to take effect. Most Nobles simply learned through the years, to manipulate the sensation, to where it looked as if they didn’t feel pain at all. Crete had seen some Nobles have limbs removed, acid poured into their mouths, cleaved in half by a strong blade… and still they would smile and calmly threaten their foe as if they were having tea with them as opposed to being engaged in deadly battle.

A little known truth was that their calm and collected demeanor in the face of agony was just a farce: they felt every ounce of pain inflicted on them just as humans did…Nobles just had more experience at transcending it into another element of their being. In a sense, the old ones learned to embody the very essence of pain.

Crete had a sudden intuition to open her eyes and look over at Doco. He had stopped drinking, and started to wave his head from side to side trying to gain his bearing. The scaly giant looked oddly off balance. 

_“Doco? Savra huite’ ?”_

Crete narrowed her eyes and snatched up her dagger before quickly getting up. Doco’s breath turned into a labored pant as he turned away from the pool, and slumped over after a few steps. He looked confused as he tried to stand again and fell over on his other side all together and didn’t move.

 

 _“Doco!”_

 

She had started towards him before a hair’s breadth of instinct bent her spine backwards, causing her to narrowly dodge a twirling blade that sliced the air between them and thudded into a tree. Her narrowed eyes searched for a flicker of an exposed enemy in the foliage. It all became clear now: The water source had been poisoned after all. Cackling laughter echoed across green leaves of thick branches overhead. The sound separated and surrounded them just out of view. The dagger in her hand was tipped red with her own blood and now called out for more.

“Show yourself to me, and it may inspire mercy.” She threatened to the cackling trees. The response sent chills up her spine.

_“Oh, my dear… I inspire many things. Mercy is not one of them.”_

The gentle voice was recognizable, as though it fell from some misplaced nightmare that had long ago been shelved from childhood. It came from nowhere, and yet everywhere. It slithered from hell to whisper seeds of sin into the hearts of weak souls-- Yes, Crete knew the voice of her half sister quite well...

Her words called forth the very darkness to descend the grassy sun-touched landscape. Shadows began to creep across the ground, and blot out the sunlight overhead. Time turned over, succumbing to the powers of it’s Noble master, as she turned the beautiful day into an ominous night within moments.

Crete suspected time bewitching incense, or perhaps space warping technology, but couldn’t be sure. Noble kind had developed technology ages ago to combat the natural cycles of day and night, to ensure their uninterrupted invincibility. Curving two points of time from opposite ends of the world was an easy way to ensure that you could literally “bring the darkness” wherever you went. A useful trick to Nobles, and highly effective at inspiring fear in humans. Since Crete was neither, there was little indication that it affected her one way or the other. With relaxed shoulders, and a more dignified stance, she addressed the darkness again, this time with a calm resignation.

“It’s been a long time, Valea.” 

Above the glittering pool, a void of pure darkness appeared. It rippled like a desert mirage, distorting the very fabric of space as it created an otherworldly doorway. Voids like this could cause madness in people, if they looked directly into it for too long. The light-absorbing darkness was not like looking into the mouth of Hell-- Hell was at least a place with feeling and existence… This was a nothingness, an absence of everything: a living oblivion and on it’s edge, dwelled the true creatures of the night.

Through it appeared a pale drop of pearled beauty. Draped in shimmering fabric that clung to every curve like liquid gold, she came forward like an angel of heaven. The graceful manner of her step as she blossomed from the dark void, was second only to the gods that were said to descend the earth once a millennia...

The surface of the water shuddered at the caress of her bare feet, almost ashamed that it was touched by something so beautiful. It held her there, on its surface like a weightless feather. The sharp and regal features of her ancestors, were both enchanting and instinctively struck fear into the hearts of mankind. Alluring and terrifying: This was the presence of a true Noble. 

Her ruby red lips smiled sweetly. “For far too long, my sister, these arms have grown so weary of searching for you. Let me rest them in your embrace.” 

Her white limbs stretched out for her sister still poised at the embankment several feet away. Crete recoiled like a wild animal at the gesture. The tone in her sisters’ ethereal voice was a mockery of genuine affection that her former self had learned all too well. This was a trap that she dared never play into again...

From the corner of her eye, Crete caught the slightest of movements from Doco as he twitched his tail upwards. 

_Fight it, Doco-- Fight it with all your strength!_

Despite the twisting of her insides at the possibility of losing Doco, she commanded with an iron resolve, “Allow the dragon to live. He’s of no importance to you.” 

Valea cocked her head slightly to one side, like a bird of prey. “Oh, but he is of _great_ importance to _you_ , dear sister…” 

With a twist of her hand, the golden threads of her dress snaked out like lightening, and tightened themselves around Crete’s body. She struggled to break free, but was dragged forward in an instant to stand eye to eye with her deceptively quick sibling above the surface of the pool. The threads guided their catch directly to their mistress’s outstretched hand. Long fingernails wrapped her neck in a vice-like grip.

“And that, is a most grievous sin; to allow oneself to be loved by one so filthy as you... Even a mindless beast should have more pride.” 

Her breath was a cold chill to a fresh spring blossom. After all these years, she could still inflict pain like no other with words as sharp as broken glass. Crete gasped for air, and wriggled to free herself from her golden-thread cocoon. Steely fingers tightened their grip to cease her incessant squirming. Crete was close enough to see the firey gold flecks in Valea’s blue eyes. The same eyes that showed malice and pure contempt reflected back into the same gold-flecked blue eyes of desperation and pain that were Crete‘s. 

The scene echoed déjà vu, from years ago when times were more simple between them. When the sparring matches always ended in Crete’s embarrassing defeat, but never her death. Her half sisters where stronger, faster, with more years of finely honed skill… They had been all too eager to deal out punishment on what they considered a scourge on their family name. Their youngest sibling never inspired their sympathy, but rather contempt for the shameful thorn of their father’s appetites having bore a Dhampire off-spring. 

Only their fathers’ command would stave off the final blow, much to their disappointment. He had always spared her their full wrath, but now there was no one to help her-- No one to call off the terrifying power that was her full blooded Noble sibling, in all her glorious vengeance. The hatred buring from Valea’s golden-blue gaze now focused on the delight of watching her strength slowly being choked out from her body... She brought her close to smell the fresh wound at her chest.

“I always did delight in the smell of your blood. It hailed my victory on the horizon. Before father would snatch it away.. But he is no longer here to save you this time. You made sure of that.” 

Red lips spread into a smile, baring sharp white fangs. Intoxicated by the smell, Valea took her hands off her sister’s throat, only to grab a handful of braided hair at the back of her head. With a violent jerk backwards, Crete’s throat was exposed. He neck nearly breaking at the sharp angle.

Valea leaned in close enough for Crete to feel the heat of her breath at her neck, and like a secret spoken to a lover, sweetly whispered, “Now you’re all mine...”

Crete opened her eyes to search wildly for a way out, only to settle on an alluring point in the darkness at the embankment. As her mind tried to discern if there was a figure standing there, or just her desperate imagination, something thin gleamed in the darkness, passing a mere inch from her strained expression. Nearly faster than even her heightened vision could discern, a rough wooden needle slid silently through the air before imbedding itself into the eye of the Noblewoman. With a shriek, Valea recoiled and threw two pale hands up to her face. With broken concentration, the golden bindings that had been holding her in an iron maiden grasp, loosened and dropped her into the water below. Crete wasted no time in clamoring up to the surface and skittering unceremoniously across the embankment until she was out of the water and well away from her half sister.

Crete looked over to see that a portion of the darkness had taken human form. He was wearing the hunter’s clothes, and even bore the same resemblance… But this living darkness couldn’t possibly have been the same person she had met in the dead forest. This… had to have been someone else. His countenance reverberated a power that sucked the breath from her lungs. It was hard to breath when laying eyes upon him. The darkness melded around him, not because he commanded it to; the darkness simply felt like it was the most respectful thing to do for him. He had his sword drawn, and the shimmering arc of a long blade protruded in front of him. D glanced at Crete.

“Get back.”

His words were like cold steel. Crete furrowed her brow as she remembered how to breath again. 

“ _You_ get back! She’s definitely going to kill you now… you had better run while you‘ve got the chance, Hunter.” 

They both looked at the slumped over figure, still lingering there above the water’s surface. Fingers that had seemed so lithe and inviting before, now looked boney and malnourished as they gripped the end of the wooden needle in her eye and ripped it out with a bloody stream of liquid. A screech rang out, as she pressed her other hand to the side of her face and glared at the direction of D through red stained fingers.

“You! How _dare_ you defile my beautiful face in such a way! Death will not come swiftly enough for you!”

Her siren-like voice had degraded into a hollow rasp, haggard with hatred for the one who would have the gall to dishevel her beauty. He hadn’t just hit a soft spot, he had hit her ego with pinpoint accuracy. Crete had seen Valea tear a room of seamstresses to pieces after she found a spot of dirt on her new gown, she shuddered to think about what was going to happen to this poor fool for a crime far worse.

Her golden threads moved like liquid lightening towards D. They melded their shape into sharpened spears that gleamed in the darkness, poised to skewer him simultaneously. Gold was met with a silver flash in the air before the threads fell limply at his feet. The tips of them shrank back like tiny slugs that liquefied back into their parent tendrils before they receded in defeat to their mistress. 

Valea looked confused and angry that her attack had been so quickly dispatched. She hissed at the hunter’s calm stance. 

“Are you the one that killed the girl from the circus?”

D asked calmly. A smile spread across her face like a maddened chesshire cat. The true nature of Valea had been revealed. 

“You mean my gift? She was so delicious... But I was generous. I left a little behind for you, Crete.” 

Her head turned slightly. Unblinking eyes-- one blue, the other a bloody hollow wound, fixated onto Crete, still on the ground. The chesshire cat was hungry, and Crete looked like a baby bird fallen from the nest.

“Did you like her, sister? Did she taste sweet like a first love? Was she not the shining sun of life itself?”

“Get away from me…” 

Crete warned hesitantly, as she stumbled back onto her feet. Valea glided gently across the water towards her like a ghost. Her nervous and hesitant hand rolled along the side of a hilt behind her. The twin blades at her back ached to be touched and Crete secretly pleaded with whatever gods that may have been listening, to offer her another choice than to use them. She had lost her dagger in the water, and now searched for some other means-- any other means than these-- to defend herself.

“You’ve run long enough, Crete. It’s time to pay for your sins, now… _Both_ of you.”

It was unclear who exactly Valea had been referring to when she said ‘Both’… Crete and Doco? Or Crete and D? certainly, D had disfigured her for a while, and Valea, like most vain Nobles, considered that quite unforgivable… But Doco had a longer history of standing in the way of his mistress and warding off lesser ranks of the Vidraru family’s familiars. On better days, he had been rather successful at it. Sadly, his trust in his mistress may have been the undoing of him now. After all, it was she who had allowed him to drink from the water that had been laced with a highly toxic venom. 

The world seemed to sink in around her. As Valea flashed towards her with arms outstretched and a red mouth jutted open with white fangs like some pale banshee, and Doco in the throws of an agonizing death just a few feet away, and the beautiful steely figure of D-- wait, D!

In the blink on an eye, he stood between Valea and Crete. A silver arc flashed out and bisected the floating Noblewoman, reducing her into two halves of a screaming whole. One bloodied with a missing eye, the other with a look of surprised horror, both portions began to fall apart from each other.

The surprised half seemed to utter a single word before she disappeared into a shimmering mirage. 

_“How…?“_

The darkness instantly began to lift. With a flash of his blade, D had reduced the spell into nothing but dust and skittering shadows. He turned to Crete as the viel of night lifted, and the sun began to peek through the canopy of trees overhead. Birds resumed their songs, the wind blew away the last remnants of the nightmare, and the horrifying aura that resonated from D seemed to disappear and leave behind the simple clothed young man from earlier. 

“She was just a projection. Do you know the real noble’s whereabouts?” 

He asked her matter-of-factly. Crete stared at the point above the water where her sister had just been. Her eyes were fixed and glassed over in a tangle of thought. 

“Just a projection…” She muttered to herself, Ignoring his question. Doco gave a low groan past them. It snapped her from the slight daze, as she immediately dashed over to the behemoth’s head that now grated across the graveled embankment in agony. She knealt down and gently touched the leathery hide near his eye. In a language D didn’t understand, she cooed to him quietly before getting up.

“This poison is no projection, though. I tested the water before I let him drink… it was clear of poisonous substances, I swear it. I would never have let him touch a drop if it had--”

Crete was about to lose her composure now. D could sense it easily enough from the shaky tone.

“Someone may have contaminated it from up-stream just after you had tested it.” D responded as he walked to the pool’s edge, and dipped a protesting left hand into the lapping water.

“What are you--?” She began to ask as a strange sight unfolded before her. A bizarre sucking noise was heard as his left hand seemed to absorb vast mouthfuls of water. With gurgled murmur from the center of his palm, D clenched his fist with a shaking intensity, and carefully brought it over to the creature. 

“Open his mouth.” 

“Tell me what you’re doing first.” 

“The water was definitely poisoned. I’ve analized the molecular structure and reconfigured it for a neutralizing agent.”

“With…your hand.” Crete was obviously skeptical.

“It isn’t a cure, but it will stop the spread of the poison in his blood stream. The choice is yours.” 

Crete sneered at his lackadaisical attitude in the face of her inner turmoil.

“ _Argh!_ As if I have one!”

Angry at her helplessness and lack of options, she quickly pried open the dragon’s mouth as D held his hand over the creature’s gaping maw. A glistening sparkle of water threaded down into his throat from a point in the palm of his hand that couldn’t be seen. Doco didn’t seem to respond, as his breathing continued as small shallow huffs. His green eye opened, but would glass over and close again without focusing, not even on his mistress who spoke to him in several different tongues to get him to rise. She looked at D with wild eyes.

“You said it would help him.”

“I said it would stop the poison, not undo what has already been done--”

“Then you’ve condemned him to an even more torturous death!” 

Crete gritted her teeth to stave off the fury welling up within. She could feel that Doco was stressed and disillusioned by the poison, and because of it her own thoughts where scattered and unfocused. D’s emotionless responses did little to help the situation. How could he understand the bond between a dragon and rider? The melding of two hearts, and two minds, but in separate bodies? Doco may have been the one dying, but both where in pain. This was a hundred times worse than any silver-tipped needle through the chest… 

Something gleaming in the sunlight caught the corner of her eye. The double edged blade that had been thrown at her at the beginning of the scuffle, hadn’t been from the noblewoman. It had come from the laughing trees above the waterfall. She eyed it carefully before plucking it from the tree trunk. She turned it over in her hand as she spoke,

“My father had a servant; An alchemist by the name of Malthesic. I’d know his cheap weaponry, and his cowardly cackle anywhere. He was still human last I remember, so he can travel by day, unlike the rest… If I where him, I‘d be running right about now.” 

She tossed her chin up to the rocky waterfall’s edge above them. D immediately started off towards it. 

“Hey, wait! Why are you going to find him? This isn’t your problem, or your responsibility. I’m the one--…I caused all of this. Don’t get involved any more than you already are.”

D stopped and turned his head slightly, his sword-strung back still facing her.

“I wounded that Noble. Is she the type to hold a grudge?” He asked without any hint of fear.

“Until the ends of the earth, I’m afraid.” She responded with a sympathetic sigh.

D smiled slightly, then. An amused reflection behind half closed eyes.

“Then I suppose I’m already too involved to turn back now. Stay here with him. He clearly means a lot to you. If I don’t return, you should be with him until the end.”

Crete stood speechless. Without another glance back, D bounded in one swift jump, clearing the 30 foot hike up and over the waterfall’s crest. In a flash, he was gone and all that was left where the simple, yet heavy words that still clung to the air between them.

_Perhaps he understood, after all..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations between Crete and Doco:
> 
> “Asha Fru’yi ten, Doco...” > "Don't worry about me, Doco."
> 
> “Luce, ecru?” > "Thristy, friend?"
> 
> “Doco? Savra huite’ ?” > "Doco? What's wrong?"


	3. Descent from thy holy garden

#  **Descent from thy holy garden**

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

D whisked through the forest following a trail only he could see. His feet barely touched the ground before lifting off again at incredible speed like a leaf on the wind. A hoarse voice taunted him along the way.

_“Unbelievable! That giant monster tried to kill you this morning. Have you forgotten that?”_

“I haven’t.” He responded, slightly annoyed at being chastised by his own hand,

_“ And what proof do you have that the whole scene with the noble woman wasn’t Crete’s doing entirely, to throw you off her trail? Faustino warned you that she was a talented actress, didn't he?”_

“ _Was_ it all her doing? You would know.” 

_“Well!… N-No, it didn‘t appear that way.” It doesn’t mean she still ain’t bad news.”_

The hoarse voice seemed indignant in his stammering, before chewing out the truth in a mumble. The symbiot was particularly adept at the subtle castings of magic. Had it been Crete who was conjuring up the entire scene, he would have surely sniffed out the threads of faerie glamour that lead back to her own hand. 

_“Need i remind you that your employer just wanted Crete’s head, not the entire clans'. Why go through all this trouble just for the same amount of profit?”_

“If it makes no difference as to whose head they’re given, then I‘d rather collect the right one.”

D remarked in his usual matter-of-fact way as he swiftly bounded between the trees, not really following a straight or easy path among the foliage. The hoarse voice resigned with a defeated sigh. He was certain that they where digging themselves deeper than they had to for this job, but there was no convincing D otherwise. Despite being lodged into his left hand all these years, the parasitic entity was no closer to knowing the inner workings of D than any passing vagrant on the street. While they shared a body and perhaps a bit of consciousness, his heart and soul still remained the hunters’ own. 

Within a minute, he stopped short of a rocky outcrop overgrown with lush green vines that hung like Yamanba hair, shading it just out of reach of the sunshine. A black hooded figure rested casually underneath it, his hand rested on a beaten up leather box.

“Malthesic, I assume. You poisoned the water downstream.” D began. The figure sat up straight and tossed his hood back to reveal a weathered face of an old man, far beyond his given time on earth. 

“You would assume correct, good sir.” 

Malthesic smiled at him, the heavy wrinkles of his lids nearly covering the peculiar blue within blue eyes that stared intently at the hunter. The Alchemist had been a servant of the Vidraru family his entire life, just as his father before him had been. Layers of malicious terror infllicted on others with his craft had built up around any semblance of a heart ages ago. He had no trouble dousing entire villages with his poisons, if it meant to live another day under the boot of his noble lord. 

He had created poisons that turned people into monsters, zombies, or into the very creatures of the night that they hated most. His toxins could quickly melt flesh from bone before screams could even burst from acid-eroding mouths. His maniacal laughter from just out of sight was his only signature, as he gained a sexual thrill from the suffering of others just out of view. He leaned forward a bit, poorly disguising his wicked spirit with a kind smile.

 

“You seem to have me at a disadvantage. These old bones just can’t get up and go like they used to. I can’t compete with such… Prime athleticism.” 

His last remark came with an obvious lecherous tone as blue within blue eyes searched over D’s lean figure. D didn’t seem put off in the slightest to an old man coming on to him. He raised his right hand behind his head to grasp the sword hilt. Malthesic stopped smiling then. 

“Wait! Just an old joker, I am. Now--now, no sense in harming an old man just for doing his job, eh?”

Sensing the dark aura that had destroyed Valea’s enchantments, he knew his was not a game the hunter was willing to play. His wrinkled hand dipped into the leather brown box at his side, and pulled out a vial of emerald green liquid. 

“T-This is what your lookin’ for, right? It-It’s the antidote, I swear on my own life!”

D remained silent as the sharp silver gleam of his longsword slid from the black scabbard on his back. It glinted the sunlight into the old man’s eyes as he nervously raised the blue vial to the hunter in an offering of peace.

“Come on, now! D-Don’t do that! You wouldn’t really cut down an old man, would ya? I‘m only doing my job!”

“So am I…”

Malthesic’s nervous laughter did little to inspire sympathy in the Hunter as he took a step forward with the sword held low at his hip. The old man skittered back against the hard rock, certain that his death now towered over him. Suddenly, a slight wavering in D’s step turned Malthesic’s nervous grunts into a low cackle. 

The hunter stepped backward, and shut his eyes tightly.

“Somethin’ wrong with your eyes, son? A bit of an itch? Hehe, must be something in the air!” 

D took another misstep backward and fell down to one knee, propping himself up by sticking the end of his longsword in the ground. He coughed up a smattering of blood on the ground as Malthesic got to his feet, and slung the leather box over his shoulder in an accomplished manner. He was rather proud of his ’whimpering coward’ routine. 

“Could be you’re allergic to Rag Plant, or the Foxfoot over there…” 

The old alchemist leaned in a bit to revel in his prey’s suffering. D covered his eyes with a free hand as drops of blood began to roll down his porcelain face.

“Could also be the Virgin’s Tear spice that I blew into the air, just seconds before you came up on me. You see, the fun thing about this toxin is that it doesn’t matter if you cover your nose and mouth since this little bit o’ devil’s dust goes in through the eyes and rots you from the inside out. Fortunately, I created these handy antitode drops. Didn’t you notice my odd oculars?”

D pulled down the scarf from his face and took a gasping breath. Malthesic laughed at how quickly the tables had turned. He had made a simpering pup out of the living embodiment of his own death. He outstretched his feeble hand that still clutched the emerald green antidote in it and dangled it confidently at D.

“That traitor bitch deserves to suffer, and her death has been a long time coming, hunter. Guess you wont be needin’ this, afterall. Hehe--”

His gloating wasn’t the only thing cut short when a clean flash of silver sliced off his outstretched hand. The blade had met such little resistance at chopping off the withered husk of an apendage, that the Alchemist took a moment to register the sudden influx of seering hot pain that washed over his brain. In a dry scream, he reeled back clutching the bloody stump. A toxic spice that turned organs into liquid rot, wouldn’t leave a person in the mood to be mocked-- especially not D.

“Maybe you shouldn’t talk so much while the blind can still hear.” 

The feminine voice didn’t belong to either of them. Crete stood just barely out of sight, still clutching the double ended blade from earlier. Apparently, she didn’t take well to waiting for a complete stranger to decide the fate of her beloved companion, and had come anyway. She watched in disgust as Malthesic rolled in agony, kicking over the leather box and coating vines, rock, and dirt with a spray of fresh blood.

“You look like a hundred miles of bad road, Malthesic. And that was before D took your hand off.”

“You _bitch_! You _devil’s whore_! I’ll kill you both, do you hear me!? My hand! My god damned hand-- _argh_!” 

Crete ignored him to walk over and search the tipped over leather box. Broken vials and liquids she dare not touch with bare hands seeped out and smoked onto the ground. One of the liquids slowly made a silvery path on the ground, as it turned the blades of grass into silver streaks of a high density alloy. Another was causing a spurt of wild roses to grow at an alarming speed along the ground and up the side of the rocky outcropping. God knows what tortures he had used these vials for.

Carefully, she plucked out a small dropper filled with a dark blue liquid and placed a dab of it in each of her eyes. It had been many years since she had seen Malthesic, but memory served her well that he was still a creature of habit. His leather box of tricks, given to him by his father, was still organized in exactly the same way as it had been when far less wrinkles donned his face-- When much more of a man, and far less of a monster could be seen reflected in his eyes.

Crete turned her now blue within blue eyes from the writhing Alchemist to the haggardly breathing hunter. She watched him for a moment, with an emotionless expression. Seeing the suffering of another, normally inspired sympathy and an instant need to help. It was a mystery what the scene inspired in Crete, as she seemed in no hurry to ease either mans’ pain. 

She eventually walked over to D and pulled his hand away from his bloody face. After a few curt words exchanged, Crete eventually got him to open his eyes so she could the administer the drops, and got him to his feet. He refused to use her as a crutch and pushed her at arm’s length when she tried to help any further. 

Malthesic’s screams had silenced, as the profuse bleeding had slowed his death throws. His eyes started to gloss over, and his skin had turned as white as bleached parchment. It had given the rapidly growing wild roses from his spilled potions permission to creep down the vines from above, blanketing him in a flowering death shroud. Once the silvery liquid had soaked into the roots of the plant, it quickly traveled up each tendril transforming it’s lush blooms into gleaming metal.

In a sudden moment of clarity, the old man looked at the silver roses and stared out at Crete who had turned her back on him to argue with a stubborn D.

“I..wonder…what makes…the wild rose, wilt? I… wonder what makes… the steel rose, rust? Hah…do you remember, Crete? Or have you… forgotten?”

A wry smile spread across his thin mouth. A last taunt, that none save only a few, including her, could understand. Crete stopped and slowly turned. A red fire burned through the blue that shielded her eyes from the poison spice in the air. The look of a demon, like the ones that where waiting for him in hell-- shot right into the soul of the dying man. 

“No, I haven’t. But you forgot something…”  
“And what‘s… That?”

 ** _“This--”_**

A fiercely hurled double sided blade spun through the air, sliced through the metal roses, and sank into the Alchemist’s skull with a sickening thud. His expression, with his twisted smirk and lecherous eyes, remained frozen in time. Eternally locked forward on Crete, mocking her every step from this moment on until she finally followed him into Hell. His metal rose casket would surely stand the test of time until then. 

 

†

Despite his insides slowly returning from melted mush, and his sight completely useless, D was still able to run like the wind back through the forest without a single branch snagging his billowing coat. Crete had snatched up the poison antidote from Malthesic’s severed hand and both descended upon the still mass of Doco, still near the water‘s edge, and still near death. She quickly poured the entire contents of the antidote into the mouth of the dragon, and impatiently waited for any signs of health returning. D stood by the water and held his left hand over his eyes.

“How much time?” 

He asked quietly. The barely audible hoarse voice in his hand grumbled,

“Well, the drops definitely helped neutralize the effects of the spice. It’s still going to take time to replenish an eye, let alone two. I’ll need at least a day.”

“you have until sunset.” D addressed the voice curtly and didn’t wait for an answer before lowering his hand. Crete approached, and looked forward, instead of directly at him.

“It’s going to take time for the antidote to work through his system, so it appears that I’m still trapped here with you until then.”

She seemed genuinely irritated at the idea of having to be saddled with the hunter for even longer.

“You could have left me, if you were in such a hurry to leave.”

D’s frosty attitude left little sympathy for her plight. He hadn’t asked for her assistance, and despite losing his sight, could sense very well that there had been a moment of contemplating doing nothing for him during his moment of agony. Crete tossed her hand in disregard with a sneer.

“Oh, your so welcome! Please, don’t thank me. Think nothing of it, Sir…” 

Her sarcasm turned dark as she turned to glare closely at his closed-eyed visage before adding,

“Happily, would I have left the both of you to writhe in your own torments-- as all men deserve! The world is cold and punishes kindness, so make no mistake, hunter: I am not kind. I am merely the last ideal of the true nobility. No one but a coward claims opportunistic victory over an enemy.”

“Still enemies, are we?”

“You tell me. Besides, I’m _certain_ you would have done the same had the tables been turned.”

Week old coffee held less bitterness than Crete. Without another word, she went back to lie beside Doco, and gently petted at his knobby leathered muzzle. Despite the opinion she had of the hunter beginning to blur, the affection she held for the dragon was unmistakable. D simply kept his back to them, keeping watch like a sightless stone guardian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The morals of man don't apply to those that walk in the spaces between human and monster, for they are neither, and so we cannot judge or punish them in the court as we would judge and punish ourselves. They are an abomination, a scourge of sin that must be cleansed from the earth in any way deemed fit at the time. protect yourself and your loved ones. Save mercy for those that have the ability to give it." - The Traveler's Guide to Frontier Society, 1297 AD


	4. When the Hare Howls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the " † " symbol represents a movement of time and space, usually to another part of the story from here on out.

#  **When The Hare Howls**

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Several hours had passed and bright sunlight poured relentlessly down from above. Doco had gotten to his feet but was in no mood to fly. A leisurely pace on foot was what he chose instead and the lumbering beast shook the earth with every footstep. though no other eyes but Crete‘s could discern his sickly gait, his powerful body stalked effortlessly beside his mistress who had quickly shot down D’s offer to ride on his horse with him to speed up their travel. The lone rider, cloaked in shadow even in the middle of the day, dredged along ahead of them in dignified silence. 

They had come out of the forest on the western side, and before them lay the rolling hills of abandoned farmlands and lush meadows of a place D vaguely remembered called Thistle Wilk. Nearly a hundred years after a massive disaster collapsed the tiny town, no survivors ever went back to rebuild. Nature took its course without mans’ influence and re-paved the countryside with beautiful grasslands that flowed with the wind like an emerald ocean. 

It made Crete nervous to be out in the open with no tree cover and had instinctively pulled the white caplets’ hood over her pale tresses. The back of her hand that swiped along her forehead kept coming back slick with cold sweat; the onset of heatstroke was beginning already. She had clearly been out in the sun too long today and couldn’t understand how D, a dhampire like herself, was faring so remarkably better in the direct sunlight for this long. She mused at different explanations, none of which suggested he was simply of a stronger blood than herself.

_UV filtering clothes, personal force field technology, world class acting…_

“Which direction are we headed?” 

D asked plainly. She cleared the fatigue from her throat before answering him. Like Doco, revealing ones vulnerable state was not advised among uncertain company.

“North… _Very_ far north, if you are still so inclined to assist. Though you don‘t owe me any favors, and shouldn‘t feel obligated to escort me until I get there.”

“I’m inclined to locate the killer for my employer, and I haven’t decided whether or not that still isn’t you.”

His curt reply caused Crete to instinctively lower her eyes to the ground before stealing another glance at the inky black silhouette of him, eclipsed against the sun. Despite the odd feeling of wanting to commit the tatters of his coat to memory than she was to argue, she parried and returned his sharp tone. 

“If you had decided I was the killer of that nameless waif, you would have taken my head back to Faustino by now and collected the reward. I’m a difficult creature to kill, Master D. Many have tried, believe me-- But I’m even more difficult to redeem, so godspeed with whatever endeavor you‘ve chosen.“

The next breath caught in her throat when his mount suddenly halted. The air turned still, and dared not move. A flash of fear streaked across her mind, hoping that perhaps she hadn’t just given him the idea of an easier route to his end goal. D’s head turned slightly. The sun made it difficult to see if he were staring at her or not as he spoke, despite seeing the clear outline of his perfect profile. 

“Redemption is just a word. Like any other, it means nothing without truth behind it. If you’re so sure that there is no hope to reveal your innocence, then we can end this here and now if you like.”

Crete would have felt embarrassed, had fear not taken the front seat first. She looked away, angry at the emotion. D took it as her resignation as he turned back and lightly tapped at the withers of his cyborg horse with heeled spurs. A lingering quip flowed out behind him, the heavy words surprisingly gentle on the breeze as his mount trudged onward,

“And she wasn’t nameless; her name was Rei’el...”

She looked off in the distance, angry for not knowing why she didn’t just try and take his head off this very moment, nor why she hadn’t done so when he was at his most vulnerable in the forest glade from Malthesics’ poison… She felt embarrassed for having said her honest feelings on the matter, which sat at an odd angle in her throat. It was true that she didn’t regard Rei’el any differently than the countless others sacrificed in the name of a Noble’s banter and boredom. But D was certain to have this girl’s life burden her like the center jewel in a crown of thorns. He had yet to decide whether her death had come from the hands of Crete herself, or from the specter woman in the water, but he knew there were connections there that she wasn‘t telling him. Even if the blood wasn’t on her hands, it stained her conscience just the same.

Crete was beginning to understand just how uncomfortable it was going to be having to interact with this perfect ice sculpture of a man; every word, every look, made one feel completely exposed before him, and she despised that vulnerable ache. The white caplet’s hood was pulled over her flush-stained porcelain face to shield herself-- and this time, not just from the sunlight.

 

†

 

Through centuries of battle, the great mountain fortress had held strong against the mightiest of foes from otherworldly science, to the times of noble houses warring against each other with fierce abandon. The strength of a noble’s home reflected the strength of their character, and the mountain keep had been powerful indeed to withstand the elements of the harsh north with such magnificence as to garner the respect of the other houses. Set among the high peaks of the Alurian Tundra, the fortress of the Vidraru clan had been carved out the rock with the iron will of the first White Lord Vidraru. The feat of carving such an impressive stronghold from the unforgiving peaks solidified his position in Noble society that had gone unchallenged for centuries…

But gone were the days of majestic fortitude for the Vidraru family‘s crowning achievement. What seemed an opulent tribute to the will of Noble-kind, now stood isolated and alone among a sea of snowy white. Entire wings had rotted and crumbled away, while the main body held stubborn against the elements, unaware of its mortal wounds. The flecks of snow that found their way inside fell quietly to the floor like frozen tears, lamenting the fall of such strength and majesty from its former masters and into the hands of a mistress who seldom ascended from the holds‘ expansive halls in the underground depths. 

Somewhere deep within the labyrinthine corridors, came the nervous step of a man bearing a tremendous weight-- not on physical shoulders but as a great burden of the mind. He tried to construct different ways to deliver unfortunate news as tattered robes, heaped upon robes, dusted the empty hall as he walked kicking up remnants of snow and dust that danced once more in the wake of his tread. His mistress and the masters before her, were never ones to accept failure and it was fortunate for Malthesic that he had died in battle. He would not be left to suffer the consequences of admitting failure to Lady Arges, unlike Aurfeht. Not shooting the messenger was a humans honor that she never felt the need to abide by.

He soon approached a giant black door, the length of which ascended into the shadows of the ceiling above. Carved from two solid pieces of black crystal, it would have gleamed like glass, had there been enough light to give it reason to. Two armored guards eyed him suspiciously before each took an arm away from their giant towering spears to push open the doors. Spreading with a mighty crack as though they hadn’t been opened in an age, Aurfeht slowly stepped through.

The interior of the great room had a strange pale glow. The expanse was void of any ornamentation or furniture, aside from a giant throne that stood draped among hundreds of strips of sheer silken fabric: remnants of the curtained ceiling most likely, that now looked dilapidated and ready to cave in at any moment. Such was the look of just about every room of the Fortress. In the recesses of his mind, he admitted that his prior masters would never have allowed such disgraces to befall their home, even for appearances’ sake.

Aurfeht gulped down his pride as he looked around, squinting old eyes to perceive some small form of movement to indicate he wasn’t alone. He couldn’t detect any presence, but that didn’t account for much in the house of a Noble. They would allow themselves to be known only when they desired. Just when he was about to surmise he was alone, a sultry deep voice filled the open space.

“You used the door, Aurfeht.”

He had hoped his shudder of surprise had gone unnoticed. The voice continued, “I hope it isn’t because your old age has left your gifts… _dulled_.” Her quip let him know it hadn’t. 

He then noticed a single tatter of fabric that gently swayed like a stray piece of hair over the visage of the shadowed throne. The seams that separated the female figure that sat in the recesses of the over-sized chair from the darkness surrounding her, were beyond detection. They melded as one, and only when she turned her head, did he finally discern her outline. 

He gulped again before he spoke, “No, my lady. I felt it was more a sign of respect to your grace, that a servant such as myself use a less intrusive entrance for an audience with one as beauti-”

“Spare me, Elder Time Ward. How fares the hunt?”

The boom of her dulcet voice echoed across the great hall, as if the space she occupied wasn’t just seated in the throne, but all around him. She was ever-present, in the air itself and ready to suffocate him, should he offend her again with his shallow compliments. Ironically, immortals weren’t known for their patience, and the Lady Arges was textbook. While an air of breath had never been spoken within the walls of the keep as to the strength of her sanity without swift punishment, a more forgivable description in regards to her temper had been the simple word of ‘Unpredictable‘. 

Aurfeht was careful where he now tread. The rehearsing he had done in his mind before approaching the great hall was for naught. His mind now went blank in the face of a pure blooded noble. The flowery words he had thought up to mask the disgrace now fell away, only to reveal the naked truth that rolled out of his weathered mouth, tumbling down hastily into the dark. 

“The dragon still lives. Malthesic is dead-- slain by the hunter that now protects ‘she who is disgraced’.”

His old spine straightened with the stiffness of fear. He felt as if he was on the precipice of judgement, and for a moment he was unconsciously holding his breath. Would she scream hellfire and brimstone upon him? Demand he be skinned alive and picked at by the wild wolves? Hold him to her like a newborn babe, absolving him of his disgrace before snapping his neck with the gentle flick of her hand? He had seen these fates fallen on his bretherin of years before. 

Being gifted with the ability to steal life from other humans he trapped in his webs of time and space had given him enough time to have seen just about all of his comrades fall to the whim of his Noble masters. No one except him wore the red hood of the Time Ward anymore… whether by their own miscalculations, or Aurfehts’ own devious cunning, he was all that was left standing of the old order.

The lady Arges hung her head for a moment, before rising it slowly. The whites of her eyes held an evil that froze him down to the core, far beyond what the chilling wind outside could ever do. With an eerie calmness, she addressed him slowly.

“You spill this bile at my feet, and expect me to clean up your mess, Aurfeht?”

“N-no, my lady. I--”

“Malthesic was one of the old ones. His death is not without consequence. Who will take up that consequence, I wonder? The one who slew him in battle, or the one who sent him there in the first place?”

This was his nightmare and what he had been secretly dreading. Despite his ability to manipulate time and space, and escape anywhere he wished, the very fear that manipulated his own mind was enough to keep him firmly planted in the hear and now. Had he tried to escape, she’d simply pluck him back with a delicate hand and descend him into a maddening hell that he dare not consider now and jinx himself.

It was her eyes: the way they studied him-- searched him for the weaknesses of his heart that they both knew was filled to the brim with cowardice and treachery. Humans weren’t meant to live as long as he had… it did things to their sense of morality, and their value of life. Especially ones in the service of the Noble who took little thought in crushing the delicate bodies of mankind. “To walk among them is to harm them” The old saying went, and much like walking among a field of flowers, the vampire couldn’t walk amongst humans without a few getting caught underfoot. 

“M-my lady, I know I was the one to send him, but this hunter has no respect, and killed him without mercy. Please, allow me to show him the same courtesy, personally. Allow me this vengeance to my comrade. I‘ll send his soul to hell with him, so that Malthesic may claim his victory there forever!”

The seething hatred for this hunter was not without genuine emotion, but was still a cunning effort to show his mistress that he was just as upset. Perhaps the kinship of anger may snap her mood to a more favorable outcome. Aurfeht was old, but still not without his cleverness. 

His mistress sat back in the throne, and the air in the room seemed to relax its choking grip. It was a long time before she spoke again, this time with a somber tone.

“She has been so clever at hiding… Always concealing herself with whatever bits of the world she can scavange. The dragon, the theatre folk, and now this hunter dog who dares scratch the face of my kin-- my very sister!”

She spoke of the indignity dealt to her one and only pure blooded sibling: Valea’s spell had been cast so genuinely across the astral plane, that the strike he had dealt the mirage at the waterfall, had come through time and space to wound her actual physical form. To have such a skill was unheard of, and would have given them cause for concern, had Arges’ pride ever allowed it. 

Her only thought was the all consuming need to wipe clean the slate of her family, and finally dispose of every trace of her father’s weakness. She was convinced that Crete, the half-breed spawn that dared to share the same blood as her own, was an abomination against the Sacred Ancestor. She had waited years to finally absolve her clan of this stain, and a lowly hunter with a lucky aim was not going to stand in the way.

“I tire of these little shields she offers up as pathetic sacrifices to my power. Tear them down, Aurfeht… Kill all who give her refuge and comfort. Let her know there will be no place to hide, no one to help, and no one to _return to…_ ”

The old man’s face crinkled into a malicious grin, as he understood his lady’s orders. Draping the red hood over his face and stepping backward into a bow, he knew what he had to do. A tremendous weight had been lifted, as he began to feel like he was now home free. Her reaction wasn’t so bad, at least he still had his head on his shoulders. Perhaps she regarded him with more favor than the others, or felt him more valuable-- no, the most valuable servant she had. Yes, that was it.

“I am your right hand, exhaulted one. Their pain will be my pleasur--”

A spindly hand encircled his throat like a snake and yanked his withered head back with a fierce jerk. She was impossibly fast; the dilapidated silk had barely shuddered at the small puff of energy it had taken for her to move like lightening to his back. He was going to die now, he was certain of it, whereas just a moment before he had been certain of his indispensable value. She whispered into his ear, with the elegance of an all-consuming nightmare.

“I am weary of your face, Elder Time Ward. It sickens me, you know… The impropriety of wearing your age upon you like a mask is abhorrent to my senses. It mocks me with every expression.”

He would have apologized and begged for his life if he could speak. He could only stiffen every muscle in his body as her other hand graced the side of his face like a motherly touch. A bead of red blood trailed after the long sharp tip of her fingernail as it etched a path from temple to chin into his flesh. 

“I am not as forgiving as father was. Hear me well, Elder Time Ward: I will cut off this offensive scowl, should you fail me again. For _your_ pain is _my_ pleasure!”

It seemed like an eternity before she finally released her grip. In the seconds it took for him to fall to his knees and take in a great lungful of glorious air, she was gone from his senses; vanished without a trace. Only a stillness in the air and the chill of death clung on to the wings of a promise remained.


	5. The Distant Call of Memory

# **The Distant Call of Memory.**

“You felt it when we came through it a few yards back, didn’t you? The temporal warp in space?”

…

“Hello? Hand to D, wake up!”

D’s slight shift in the saddle was the only indication that he was listening. For a moment he was miles away, his thoughts distant and flowing out on the breeze until the harsh voice sent his consciousness crashing back into finite flesh-- Flesh that was currently not at the top of its performance due to the high sun. D was used to the typical nausea that came with noon-time, though he would probably never get used to the odd way that the Symbiot in his hand could cut through even the deepest mental fog in an instant. 

Maybe it was the gravely tone, or the often vulgar comments that came without recourse… But D knew they had been fused too long to question the mental bond. It didn’t need to form a mouth to speak to him most of the time; Their “relationship” as it was, had evolved beyond quite a number of formalities. D couldn’t recall what the Symbiots’ name was… Or if he even had one to begin with. The line where the Symbiot ended and where D began, had over time turned from a stark line into a gradient smudge like some weathered tattoo, inked just under the surface. 

The ‘ink stain’ continued with a huff, “Why did we stop, then? This is incredibly dangerous! It takes a real badass to trap such a huge area in a dimensional shift. we shouldn’t be hangin’ out here like sitting ducks!”

The hunter looked solemnly off into the grasses, where the black mound of a dragon’s body rested like a leathery boulder in the green haze. He thought of the weary figure in grey that nested in temporary shade at the beasts‘ legs and considered his options. 

The voice groaned, “Oh don’t tell me we’re stopping for _her?_ Since when did we cater to the weakest link?”

“She will need her strength. Whoever created this warp would have attacked us by now if that‘s what they had in mind.”

“But to spare even a single _moment_ like this? It’s not like you, D.”

D looked forward to the distance, staring at the horizon and hoping against hope it would bring a better answer than what he could give to the symbiot, or to himself.

“Moments are all we have…” 

He couldn’t clearly recall where he first heard the remark, but he knew it hadn’t sprung from his own mind as the words had a copied feel in his mouth. They echoed across a vast plane of time from a memory half decayed in the recesses of his mind. He could remember a girl in a blue,no-- _yellow_ dress sitting across from him on a railing, but not much else beyond the two of them. He couldn’t remember the year, or the season, but knew it had been a hot day. She held a flower in her hand and had begun to cry-- wet drops of shining crystal staining her yellow dress to a sallow ochre. He may have asked why she was crying, but couldn’t recount the words or sound of his own voice to question it. She had looked over to him, with tears coming from eyes he could no longer remember the color of, and had said the words that came to him now… He could think of nothing else to comfort her than to lean in and kiss the lips his present self could no longer recall the warmth of. 

_“Because these moments are all we have, D...”_

Try as he might, it was all he could dredge up of her. A girl that he was certain had been so precious to him despite the fact that he couldn’t recall her name, or even her face. A memory that faded out all parts in order of importance until all that was left of her were tears and trembling words. That was the true curse of immortality: No matter how hard you try, all memories eventually faded into lucid snapshots and frayed photographs. Even the ones that make us who we are; Experiences that had once been so detrimental to life and our existence… Our past turns into nothing but an old dream, and D was quite tired of dreaming. 

 

A faint low whistle sounded across the waving grasses. Crete was not quite sure the sound had come from sleep or from the wind, as she slowly rose from the heat exhausted coma. D insisted that they stop for a moment, as the sun had turned her dizzy to the point of nausea. She hadn’t said a word, or stumbled a single step out of place, but D seemed to be able to tell the difference between a proud ego moving muscles and not actual strength. In leu of any natural shade, she collapsed in the shadow of Docos mighty form and rested there as one would against a great oak tree... If oak trees grew scales instead of branches, and took deep heaving breaths, that is.

Doco had raised his head and scanned across the field of green then, making her feel certain now that it wasn’t just her sun-baked brain playing tricks in the twilight of waking and sleeping. As she rose, a few dark spots on the horizon made her nervous as they neared in quick proximity. She ducked instinctively beneath the grass line. The way they teetered and bounced slightly made it clear that they were a group of men on galloping horses.

“Doco, _etra souse’! etra souse-- avec’!”_ she hurriedly whispered to the beasts‘ ears as she pushed him to alertness. 

The look in his polished green eyes appeared that he knew what she wanted, and lowered his head. His black body shifted low to the ground and began to stalk among the grass, disappearing in the sea of green down far to the south of their position. She adjusted the high collar of her caplet before walking onto the dusty road towards D. Both of them watched with heightened eyes as they approached.

“A welcome party, perhaps?” D inquired, not bothering to ask about the condition of her heat sickness. Crete huffed amusedly. His eye sight was probably just as good as hers, if not better and even she could tell a band of thugs from the closing distance.

“We’ll see just how welcoming they are to a couple of spike-mouthed vagrants.” Crete was already claiming insults with a mildly sardonic tone as she absent-mindedly put a hand on D’s saddle by his leg. 

“Quickly. Climb up.” 

His instruction was met with a haughty look and a sharp tone, as she retracted her hand like it had been bitten by a snake.

“I said no before, and I’ll say no again. I despise horses-- almost as much as I despise riding backside to a man.” She hissed.

“And if we need to run? An escape would fare much quicker if you woul--”

“It’s too late, anyhow.” She interrupted as the galloping steeds closed the gap on them quicker than expected. Crete stood close, though this time without touching, and concealed as much of her face as possible from behind the tatters of Ds billowing coat.

The men thundered up on a random hodge-podge of pieced together cybernetic horses without much ceremony or stealth. Plasma rifles, long spears, and weapons of various stages in advancement were kept at the ready of nine dirty and unkempt men. They appeared malnourished with gaunt features and weathered hands with the exception of the one in the center. Leading his flock like a mother gander at the tip of a skein, he was broad and built for the ship yard with a strong chin and an impressive scar across his openly bare chest. 

“This road is being taxed, comrade. Give us what you have of value, and you can go!” his booming voice called out from a few yards away.

“Well, I don’t have any food.” 

D’s quip flowed out across the space between them: Offensive, had it not been so mild mannered. The men looked at each other and then back again, ignorantly confused about what he meant. Only the man in the middle seemed to appreciate the dry jab. He smirked as he adjusted himself in the saddle and tossed his chin high in the air to look down his nose towards the pair in front of him. 

“Now, now… My fellas may look a little lean, but they’re pretty tough! Especially when it comes to mouthy smart-asses who don‘t take directions very well… Hand over what ya got, and you can go… Last time I‘ll say it.” 

The big guy stroked the pistol at his side. The familiar whine of its plasma chamber heating up scurried to everyone’s ears and put them on edge. They knew the sound all too well, and what it meant if he didn‘t get his way. He called the shots, after all. But if the situation called for shots then it was anyone’s game afterwards, and all were itching to scramble at a chance to show their meddle. Especially when they caught a glimpse of the pale-faced countenance that was the stranger in black.

When D slowly lifted his head to meet their sights, the air between them changed. The bandits nerves sprung to new heights almost at once. He spurned a discomfort in them that they couldn’t quite place. It felt new, and foreign, and therefore immediately deemed unnatural. D didn’t have the face of a normal man. He was far too beautiful to be just that… But it was the look in his eyes that made them the most uncomfortable of all: The look of a man who had no fear and nothing to lose.

There was a sudden gasp of air as they saw D reach into his coat. Their eyes went wide as hands clattered instinctively to their weapons, edgy with anticipation at what he might pull from the depths of his inky blackness. 

D thumbed a single gold coin into the air. The gold piece limned an arc with a most harmonious sound as it glittered across the sunlit air and landed into the hand of the leader. The man eyed the peculiar coin suspiciously before taking a bite of it, and peering at it again in the sunlight. The gold coin was worth a hundred times its weight in dallas, and could easily feed them for over a year. No one seemed to appreciate the expert aim D had displayed by tossing the coin so haphazardly, only to have it perfectly fall in the leader‘s unmoved hand.

The leader looked at the hunter and then back at the coin in disbelief before bursting into a great roar of laughter. The rest of the bandits followed suit, not quite sure what they were laughing at. Before long, tears had formed in the tanned creased corners of his eyes that he quickly wiped away with the rise and fall of a chuckled sigh. Laughter was more unpredictable than anger with these types of people, and it made Crete uneasy. She stood stock still, like a nervous doe in a forest. D wasn’t amused and kept his eyes trained forward. Giving them a coin wasn’t so much as compliance as it was a test.

“Ah, stranger… I don’t know where you come from, but they’ll be sorely missing you and your generosity.”

“Does that mean that we are free to go?”

 _“We…?”_

He shouldn’t have said that. Words were powerful things. Suggestive things, in fact. By the simple use of the word ‘we’, The hardened leader became aware of the pale grey stillness that was Crete at D’s side. He had been so distracted by The hunters eerily powerful presence, he hadn’t even realized that two people had stood before him. The broad man leaned far out from his saddle to get a better look at her. His smile grew wry as he looked at Crete a few moments longer than he should have before responding.

“Well now, I said for you to hand over what ya got. This is a mite’ fine coin you’ve given me, but that ain’t all you got… We’ll take your woman too.”

Crete narrowed her eyes, disgusted at the thought of being labeled as property, and specifically, under D’s assumed ownership. As she drew in a breath to retort, D suddenly responded steely.

“She’s not mine to give.”

“Well, that’s good then! We’ll take ‘er off your hands since you don‘t mind an’ all--”

“She’s not yours to take, either.”

The hunter remained still, except for the gentle breeze that lifted and fluttered his long coat. A veritable moving shadow in midday sun, he was in no mood for any more exchanges with these kinds of men. The bandit leader had stopped smirking, and his expression turned dark before he asked a most serious question,

“Are we gonna have a problem, son?”

“I suppose we are.” He responded without ego, nor hesitation. D narrowed his eyes as he scanned across the lot of them. Their horses whinnied at the sudden surge of energy in the air. Holstered weapons slung out with hungry tenacity towards D. His black gloved hand went back into the inside of his coat, but this time the cruel silver tips of his needles grazed his fingers instead of precious coin. 

“Gentleman! I can speak for myself, you know!” Crete raised her hand high with a theatrical grace as she walked forward and addressed them with a boisterous voice. The group hesitated their aim as she approached, getting a look at what could have been the first woman they had seen in quite a while.

“But of course, you’re not ones to hear the words of females, are you? No, the only noises you’d prefer they make are ones like aah! Ooh! And mmm!”

Crete twisted her hip in a suggestive rhythm that made a few of the men lecherously chuckle amongst themselves. She smiled at them eerily as she closed the distance between them with relaxed and casual steps.

“Well, I agree. Words are wasted among us. I much prefer that instead of men talking… They scream instead… Right before I cut a fresh smile into their throat.”

It was the broad man in the front with the quicker reflexes. In the blink of an eye, he had his gun trained on a point right between her eyes. The laughter from the other men quickly stopped.

“That’s enough a’ that, girlie… Now you’re gonna drop that knife you‘ve got behind your back, and not put up any more of a fight, or I put one between your eyes, and another in your boyfriend there. What‘s your answer to that, huh?”

Crete’s theatrically amused expression fell as if it were made of shattered porcelain. The small knife she held in her hand that she had found in D’s saddle bag, dropped in the dirt with a thud. Damn her luck at being accosted by the only smart bandit in the frontier. She was done playing, and so were they. With a small upturn of her chin her voice came out soft and low to the ground at first before finishing in a firey scream, 

“I suppose to that, I say _heisaaw!_ ” 

A familiar thundering noise shook the ground beneath the horse’s hooves, and D stilled the gloved hand in his coat. Instead, he took the reigns in both of his hands and commanded his steed take a few needed steps backward. 

Doco then sprung from the tall grasses like a stampeding rhino over the entire group. It was surprising that his stealth was able to conceal him so low to the ground and loop around them without being seen, even by the keen eyes of ever-suspicious bandits. 

Bones, cybernetic horses, and foolish pride all snapped under the tremendous weight of the creature as he trampled over the men, taking one of them whole in his mouth and chucking the poor animal and the rat-bastard riding him, clear across some 30 yards of grassland. Some of them got off a few screams and miss-aimed shots before the greater dragon snatched up their pistols and rifles with a swift bite. A mighty jerk of his head relieved them of their weapons as he tossed them off into the distance, sometimes with hands and arms still attached. The ones that ran out of ammo, quickly bolted on horseback or scurried off to leave their unfortunate brethren to their fates. None of them had the artillery necessary to pierce the hide of a greater dragon, and they quickly realized that.

Some long past version of herself would have loved this scene of mayhem and punishment for men who would kill over a few measly coins, and for a moment it was as if that old self had taken over as a malicious curve of her lips turned upwards. 

“Damn the entitlement of men, and damn the self preserving attitude of your cowardice! You all may have not had the chance to harm me, but this is your retribution for all grievances you’ve done to people in the past!”

A voice that was not her own seemed to creep across her tongue,

_“All of you deserve this…”_

“Crete! That’s enough.”

She turned back and caught the look in D’s eyes. He had never said her name before then. The smirk on her lips disappeared as she felt almost embarrassed that it had even been there in the first place. The hunter would have been more than content to stay atop his mount, but the situation sprawled out before him had quickly escalated to a level he was no longer comfortable with. After a moment, she raised her hand high into the air within Doco‘s field of vision. The dragon halted his amused pecking, trying to get at one of the skinny thugs with a broken sword and screeching like a little girl, who was hiding under two dead horses.

“Doco! _Heverta lut’reac_ now. Let them be.”

She replaced the unwelcome emotion with anger as she spotted the leader trying to climb out from under his broken horse in the middle of the road. Cretes’ swift boots kicked up an abandoned spear gun into determined hands. She made her way over to the leader who struggled desperately to free his leg as she approached. In an instant, his right hand was pinned to the ground as she fired off a wooden stake the size of a train spike through the leather bracer on his arm nearly a foot down into the dusty tan dirt road. 

“Aaaaarrrgh!!--” 

“Stop your damn wallowing, or I’ll put another in your left hand too.” She demanded, “This is the worst excuse for a squatter toll I’ve ever come across. Your pathetic little gang lined up like hens on a fence post, fresh for the cleaving. Amateur move, I must say. I‘d suggest you stagger your ranks in the future, but it doesn‘t look like you‘ve got many ‘ranks‘ left for a next time.”

‘Squatter Tolls’ were originally hastily put together teams of village men who patrolled the outskirts of town, taxing traders and foot traffic in exchange for entrance into their settlements. In lands where the decent of nightfall also meant the decent of ravenous monsters, fortified village walls could mean life or death depending on which side you found yourself on, come dark… And where there was a demand, there are those that would seek to profit from it. “Entry Fees’ were a small way for poor frontier sections to be able to generate income outside the community. Criminals and ne’er do wells began to take up the practice, posing as veritable highway men, but it was never just a few coins that would guarantee your passage, nor your life with the likes of them.

Despite the sun in his eyes and the blearing pain of his right forearm that now wetted the dry earth with a pool of fresh red, he still trained an angry scowl on Crete. Never had he been bested by anyone, let alone a woman. 

“We’re not Squatter Tollers, ya ignorant bitch!”

“If you’re not Tollers, then who are you?” She probed gruffly. 

“I’m the Mountain of the Eastbrooke! Jagus Unim! No broad’s ever got the best of ol’ Jagus! ‘specially not some chicken legged bitch with no tit--AAGH!”

Another spike shot to the underside of his arm to put a quick end to his insults. It was equally successful in turning those defiant eyes into weeping pools of agonizing pain. He went with his left hand to try and pry his twice-spiked limb from the dirt, before a long shadow and the heady scent of blood loomed over his head. Doco approached warily from above and gave a low growl.

“Touch it, and I‘ll have my beloved devour you in a single bite. I‘ve no time for your slack-jawed courage, sir. There‘s not a town for miles on this road, what made you think your stupid little trick was going to work?”

“Worked on yer boyfriend, didn’t it? Heh-heh...” He retorted with a hefty smirk. Still in searing pain, Jagus had gumption. Crete tested it by firing a stake into the ground by his head, leaving a fine thread of blood to form across his cheek. His heart seemed to skip a beat before screaming for his life,

“Your god damned crazy! Look, We didn’t wanna be out here, but some guy forced us here and told us to kill every traveler who comes along this road, only then would he let us leave!”

Crete looked honestly confused. “Who are you talking about?” she asked with a raised brow, but was only met with exaggerated groans of pain. She could feel her blood rising. _“Answer me!”_

D approached Crete and lightly put a black gloved hand on the shoulder of her white caplet. When she snapped her face to scowl at the gesture, she wasn’t expecting the expression that met hers. Maybe the expectation she had was to meet more resistance from D: More of the same hollow drabble that fell along side the spittle pooling out of Jagus’ mouth and onto the dry dusted earth as he continued to beg for his life. More empty words and furrowed brows from someone who had no idea what was at stake-- how could he? How could any of them? This was necessary.

_I have no other choice…_

In years past, she would have fed on the dirty ape without hesitation and tossed the withered husk into the weeds where it belonged… Noble blood didn’t give the option of restraint when the thirst kicked in. Her father had taught her well that it was a compulsion that couldn’t be avoided, and therefore nature itself had dictated her status above human beings. “The vampire curse is given without relevance to personal desires, and therefore should be indulged without guilt…” He would say with pride, “You have no other choice.”

Though she tried to prove her merit and lust of killing, she couldn’t deny that she had a mother once… A very human mother who had sown a seed of compassion that even blood soaked degradation could not stop from germinating. The beautiful face that looked back at her under the wide brim of his black hat seemed to look right through her and reveal the hard truth. Here she was, relishing in the torture of a man who had admitted in throws of honest agony to being a simple pawn in someone’s cruel game, and it made her sick to her stomach. She hadn’t even noticed the dull ache in her mouth of growing canine teeth. Father would be proud. D became the clear voice of reason as he asserted,

“This is needless bloodshed. We need to continue onward. Leave him alone. Whatever information he may have will be revealed in time once we crest over that hill up ahead. That‘s where the real enemy lies, whoever it is.”

Her eyes searched across Jagus‘ pitiful form before lightly swatting D’s hand off her shoulder. She didn’t like being wrong, any more than she liked feeling embarrassed. She dropped the gun in the dirt, defeated.

“Aur…. Feht…” Jagus coughed out. The strength of this mountain of muscle was now wavering as he barely breathed out the syllables between hackneyed breaths. “His name…Aurfeht. He did some kinda magic on us.. Transported us here weeks ago. We haven‘t… _ugh!_ … Been able to leave since!”

Cretes’ eyes went wide as she tried to stifle the gasp in her throat. It was nearly the worst name she could have imagined to hear… Nearly. In a haphazard act of mercy, Crete bent down and plucked the stakes from his arm. She regarded his wounds as only nicks really, with only a bit of damage to a ligament here or there. 

Some mountain… She thought sarcastically as she gave a mighty kick to the heavy mass of cybernetic horse flesh off Jagus’ leg so he could move away. He scrambled backwards on his ass away from all of them-- especially away from the dragon who had continued to eye him hungrily.

“This is someone you know, I assume?”

One couldn’t be certain whether D was asking Crete, or Jagus this question, though the latter didn‘t seem like he was listening to anything other than the rhythm of his still beating heart. Crete sighed and nodded her head, careful not to meet his steely gaze. He had noticed her slight reaction to Aurfehts’ name, and she wasn’t particularly interested in revealing anymore than that. If their eyes met again, she was certain he’d know everything then. 

“Tell me.” D asked, demonstrating a rare pursuit in a line of questioning. Someone who could create this strong of a barrier in time and space was a person of great interest to D, but Crete chose to spare him the details.

After a moment she shook off the serious weight that hung in the air. As she walked away, she playfully responded with “All answers are over the hill, remember?” 

The opportunity to rest and stretch his claws had given Doco a renewed vigor. As macabre as it was, the carnage seemed to put him in a better mood for riding, as he didn‘t hesitate to bow when Crete tugged down on his horn to climb up. D slung himself into his saddle with silent ease, leaving Jagus to stare at them both in bloody and bruised confusion.

“Hey! Hey, don’t just leave me here! You busted my arm up, how am I supposed to defend m’ self now!?”” 

He called out angrily waiving his one good arm for attention. Both of them ignored Jagus’ indignant yelps. He and his men had just been a distraction, both Crete and D understood that part now. What lay ahead was the real test of wits and strength.

“Care for a race?” The slight smirk at her proposal was disturbing to anyone except D who regarded it with no change in expression. She didn’t wait for a response. Doco clamored off in great strides across the green hills. D and his horse galloped at full speed along the dirt road, leaving Jagus and the rest of the carnage behind them in a fine layer of blood and dust. It’s a shame she didn’t look back: She would have been amused to know her smirk had eventually been returned on his stony expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> “Doco, etra souse’! etra souse-- avec’!” - "Doco, pattern grouse! pattern grouse, now!" (this is a code name for stalking incoming prey.)
> 
> “I suppose to that, I say heisaw!” - I suppose to that, I say execute!


	6. Run to Red Hill

****

# Run to Red Hill

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Out of nine, only four of the bandits remained. Markle was tightening a belt around the severed forearm of Remus, but the makeshift tourniquet was little help to him now. The gaunt look of his face gave away the fact that his legs stood shakily on borrowed time. He wailed tiredly to the sky, _“damn it all, damn it all…”_ while the others caught their breath and looked around suspiciously at the tall grass for another ambush from the monster.

Mack, and Dellim argued between each other about how it all went to hell so fast, and tried to blame their way out of whos fault it was. Markle yelled to stop the fighting, but he had barely the strength himself to break up yet another fight among themselves. the only thing that stopped the men from trading blows with each other was a sudden black bloom forming in the clearing with them.

They gasped and shut their eyes, now knowing that to stare directly into it caused madness. Lorno had looked into it when they were first taken, and the poor idiot hadn’t been right ever since. The old man in the red hood flourished out before the darkness disappeared. Markle shot up before the old one could speak.

“Remus ain’t gonna last much longer, he needs a doctor. We’ve done e’ry thing ya asked, N-Now let us all go!” 

The old man turned his head to one side and glanced around at the haggard men, then centered back on Markle. He smiled,

“Why?”

Fury burned in the bandits eyes. They had all been stolen off the road with only the food and water that they had strapped to them and through lack of nourishment, tempers and patience had finally run so thin, it affected their judgement. The old man had slit the throats of two of their compatriots for being too weak to continue. The bandits knew of his power and cruelty. They had endured and feared it, but no more. Markle continued, 

“God damn you! Let us go! All of us are starvin’ tah death! I saw my brother get eaten by a damned giant dragon, and I’ve had to string up women and children on spikes for god knows what reason! I killed men, sure, I killed ’em for spots a’ coin and even less than n‘at. But I ain’t never done that to no children, ya sick son of a bitch!” 

His parched throat caused his voice to crack and break from fury into tears in a matter of a sentence or two. His knees buckled and collapsed on the ground. Precious liquid streamed down his dirt streaked face. 

“My soul ain’t never gonna leave this place. My eyes is gonna see home, but my soul ain’t never gonna leave this place now…”

After a moment, Aurfeht stepped forward and bent his head down to Markle, who’s fiery speech had degenerated into religious mumblings. The old man peeled a cracked mouth from his teeth, afraid that the words may catch on his lips and sting.

“Your god abandoned you. He‘s dead. I killed him.”

Markle looked up into Aurfehts eyes, trying to find something human within them.

“But I am his merciful steward.”

A sudden pouring of hot liquid down his chest turned Markle’s expression into one of surprise. He would have gasped, had his wind pipe not been severed as well as his carotid artery. Aurfeht didn’t even wait for him to succumb to his fatal wound before shoving him into the dirt and stepping over him like a lumpy rug.

“Ohwell, playtime is over. My toys have run their course.” 

The others weren‘t given the luxury that Markel had of any last words. Aurfeht simply outstretched his hand and drew out what little time they had left, leaving their bodies to wither and blow away along with the dust. 

“waste not, want not.“ He chuckled to himself. Without another glance back, he disappeared back into a dark void and was gone. 

Jagus Unim, having crawled hand over hand to regroup with the rest of his bandit party, saw the entire scene behind the grass. Sweat beaded down from his forehead and stung into his eyes that reactively teared up. Atleast, that was the excuse he allowed himself. He looked at the body of his second in command Markle, and clenched furiously at the ground only to have the powdery dirt sift through his fingers. 

†

 

Both Dragon and horse thundered across the grassland, paying little heed to the winding road, deciding instead on cutting a path of their own. The “race”, as it where, drew to a close as they crested the top of the last hill. The smell hit them first; An odd smell of old death wafting gently on the wind like anemochory seeds. The scene that came was far from a prize.

It was a familiar sight; The old caravan. Dirty and worn hand painted lettering across each oversized car displayed the kitchy language of the theatre.

“ **STUPENDOUS FEATS OF COURAGE!“ “HORRIFIC EXPULSIONS FROM HELL” “TERRIFYING AND MAJESTIC CREATURES!” “DANCING VOLUPTOUS BEAUTIES!** ” 

Crete couldn’t believe her eyes. Some 50 yards away, down where the earth became level again, was the Bedlam Outlands Company. The very circus that she had fled over two weeks before and left several hundred miles due south was now nesting out here in the middle of nowhere. There were definitely hover cars and flying ships still in service that were easily capable of covering the distance, but those were hell and gone from the slow moving caravan. With heavily reinforced construction to withstand attacks, the converted military rail cars sacrificed speed for defense. 

 

But it wasn’t the cars that spoke of horrors or death. They sat still and quiet, acting as a mere curtain backdrop for the scene. Anchor posts from the tents had been snapped in pieces and thrust into the ground like rough fencing, their tips reaching jagged into the solemn breeze seemingly inconspicuous, were it not for the bodies that hung suspended on them in the space between the earth and sky. 

D marched his horse down the gradual slope as the carbuncle started his protesting. “oh my favorite thing in the whole world: walking into a trap! Yes, that‘s exactly what the crazy man I‘m attached to would do.”

“We’re already ensnared. Forward is the only way out.” 

“I’m just saying those bodies don’t look as dead as they should be. Not if they’ve been here as long as that bandit clown said, roasting on spicks in the sun for a week...still awfully fresh, _don’t ’cha ya think?_ ”

Spread out several feet apart from each other, it was a simple manner for D to weave his horse between them. The deathly look about them was fresh, but the smell of their blood that had dripped down the poles and onto the ground was dark and sour. Something did seem odd.

A faint snap, inaudible to most ears, caused him to halt just as he passed the last row of bodies.

“Behind you!” Crete’s voice echoed from atop the hill, watching with apprehension. D didn’t turn around. He waited until a faint shadow touched his own. The draw and slash of his blade was quicker than any human eye. The only evidence of his action was the heavily pierced head falling from the shoulders of Percible the Professional Pinface. As if his skewered corpse didn’t already have enough problems, his body tumbled backward with a hard thunk. The rest of the bodies suddenly began to fidget from their posts, air escaping from their cold lungs in dry rasps as they pushed themselves up to the ends of the rough hewn spikes and dropped carelessly into an unsteady scramble towards the horse and rider. The ones nearer to him reached out to grab at his horse and coat only to have their limbs fall to the ground, cleanly severed at the joints.

He leapt from his horse in a backwards somersault. The acrobats would have been impressed had their heads not just been severed. As soon as his feet touched the ground, all of the them descended at once. From down below and up high, the rotten carcasses seemed to launch themselves at him with a vigor that was hardly characteristic of the undead. Flashes of silver fanned out among them, causing the bodies to slide apart and topple to the grass in gory clumps of flesh and tacky costumes. Each wave of attack was sent flying back, slashed at the neck or bisected from navel to nose with surgical precision. 

When the last of them moved no more, D slung the blood from his blade in one motion, the red liquid beading down the edge and falling off obediently. A shuffle caught his attention to his right and he watched as the bloated corpse of Faustino, a snapped off pole jutting from his stomach shuffled towards him through the carnage. His massive size had delayed his reaction to join the frenzy.

“Guess this means we’re not gettin’ paid now...” Muttered the left hand, dejectedly.

D waited for him to get within striking distance. A looming moment of calmness for D and an inevitable second death for the circus owner. Within twelve feet, Faustino’s glossed over milk-white eyes turned surprised as a thud jolted his head. He toppled forward to the ground; A slim dagger sticking from the back of his neck, effectively severing his spinal cord.

Crete was standing nearly 30 yards away, her arm still outstretched from throwing the deadly weapon with impressive accuracy. D regarded her with a slightly disappointed turn of his mouth, “I could have dispatched him without assistance. You didn’t have to interfere.”

She sauntered over and took the dagger from the back of his head, and with her foot tossed him over so that his open dead eyes stared up into the sky.

“I needed to do it. It was the least I could do for all he had done for me. He was kind to me, you know. A bit of a greedy bastard, and only wanted Doco. No other act in the world had a tame dragon, after all… But still, he knew what I was and took the risk any way. He never told them I was a dhampire. I wonder if he knew how all of this would turn out, would he have still kept that secret?”

D slightly bowed his head. “What‘s done is done. There‘s no point in thinking about it now.”

Crete looked across at the fallen bodies of her circus comrades. The faces of people she had boarded with, and worked beside now lay in pieces. Just like the rest of her life.

“You’re right. The only ones who knew were Faustino and Althea and now they‘ve paid the price.” She spat bitterly.

“She isn’t here.” D didn’t have to do a second check to confirm his remark.

He remembered the young girl Althea, with her green eyes that held no fear of him as she approached out of turn, during D‘s questioning of some of the performers and workman. An old woman had hissed at her in a thick accent, as though she were trying to curtail the actions of an ignorant pup. The girl addressed him with an urgent tone, knowing full well a lashing awaited her for speaking with someone of cursed blood. 

“Please,” she had whispered desperately, “Please believe me. No one else will. Crete didn’t kill people--She didn’t have to! I scryed those ropes found on Rei’el and an evil thing did that to her. Crete has a darkness in her heart, but not evil like that. You mustn’t kill her. Promise me?” D asked precisely what she had seen and she told him that she could only discern snippets. She could feel the girls fear and terror, and knew that cold pale hands had tied her up. 

“And is Crete not also pale? Cold by nature? Most dhampires are, child.” His guided questioning kinder to Althea than it had been to the others he had spoken with. Althea seemed distraught that he was also attempting to talk her out of what she knew in her heart to be true. “Please don’t hurt her, sir-- Just…Please don‘t! She is my friend…” Tears formed in her eyes as she was snatched away by the old woman who leered untrustingly at D, muttering incantations to ward off darkness and evil. The old woman and the rest of the circus had their fill of dhampires and rightfully so. 

Yes… He remembered her tear stricken face of courage, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her corpse was not among those that littered the ground. Crete slowly met his gaze, cautious to allow herself a sliver of hope.

“What did you say?”

“The fortune teller’s daughter. She isn’t among any of these people.”

Crete had begun to search the grass and the half-rotten faces buried there before a chilling voice tainted the air. “That’s because I wanted you to watch while I kill your favorite, Amun _bitch!_ ” 

On top of the caravan Aurfeht stood in his red tattered robes and bare feet. His old face creaked with a smile that seemed stapled at the corners like the hinges of a door, opening to yellowed and rotten teeth. He held a girl with a large blindfold that covered most of her face, in a tight grip with one hand and in the other held something thin and metal to her throat.  
“Althea!” Crete called out. She knew by the stiffening of the girl’s stature that it was indeed her. Aurfeht cackled with a raspy voice, shaking the dust from his lungs, “I’ve been waiting such a long time for this, Amune Crete. Traitor of the House Vidraru-- _Traitor of the Sacred Ancestor!_ It will be an honor to destroy you in his name!”

“You speak of the Sacred Ancestor, as though you were graced with little more than his boot lickings. Spare me your righteous indignation, Aurfeht.” Crete regarded him as garbage and spoke with a tone worthy of any noble. A clever act that covered genuine concern for the girl. Aurfeht leered with an upturned eyebrow and a coy jeer, 

“Better his boot than his _knife_ , ‘ey old friend?” 

Crete’s narrowed eyes at the sting caused him to toss his head back in a hacking laughter. Only when he cackled himself into a cough did he notice that D had stealthily leaped to the other end of the car and had begun to walk towards him as a stalking shadow. 

“Eh!? Stay back, dunpeal dog! I’ll kill this little wretch if you-”

“Come any closer? You killed the others with less provocation. That gives me very little gaurantee you won’t kill her if I do as you say.”

“You want to take that chance, pretty boy?” Althea stiffened with pain. The small bead of blood that curled down Aurfeht’s paper-thin fingers as he pressed the blade into her neck still wasn’t enough to stop D in his tracks. He ignored his question.

“I’ll give you one chance to--”

“To what!?” Aurfeht guffawed at him, “To negotiate!? Hah!” 

“…To escape alive.”

The wisen old man jerked the girl into a tighter grasp in front of him as he took a step back. A sudden fear set in as his naked heel felt the edge of the car, and realized there was no where to go. This frightening shadow of a man shot Aurfehts hostage idea full of holes in the blink of an eye. D had honestly no remorse for the girl, should she die. The old man never was much of a strategist, anyway. His silver tongue went into quick action.

“What do you care about any of these fools? Circus folk--A dallas a dozen! What do you care what we do to that traitor bitch over there for that matter, Hmm!? ”

“I don’t.”

D’s cold answer caused him to crane his neck back in surprise. He was beginning to feel the dark aura that emanated from D as he took another step and reached back to draw his sword. The killing lust emanating towards him was unlike that of the Lady Arges. Almost a shade deeper, if a thing was possible.

“Eh!? I’ll kill this girl! Don’t come any closer! Why would you want to kill me? If you don’t give a damn about any of this, why get all pissed at me, huh!?” 

As D narrowed his sword at eye level and pointed it at Aurfeht, an unfamiliar raspy voice that seemed completely out of character for the young man replied,

“Because you screwed with our money!”

Aurfehts eyes searched him confusedly for a moment. The lapse in resolve was all D needed to secure a direct hit. The old man was quick, and used Althea as a human shield, covering his emaciated frame with her body. D predicted and compensated, landing the point of his blade right underneath her armpit and into the solar plexus of the red-cloaked murderer. In the instant the sword made contact, Darkness erupted like a fireball around them, and Aurfeht sank backwards into the black pit with a smile on his face.

It was the same kind of warp that D had seen at the waterfall, and it made his eyes hurt to look into it. It was unheard of that someone could control such a space to his advantage. Althea was shoved forward as Aurfeht descended into the void. She fell into the arms of something hard and comforting at the same time. Her small hands clasped around D’s bold upper arm. 

“Mr. Hunter? Is that you?” She whispered greedily for comfort. Glancing down at her long enough to see the wound at her neck was superficial, the young girl was met with an ungracious stumble off the roof as he pulled his arm free of her grasp, and pushed her off the edge. 

“Woah--Oh!” She exclaimed as she came in abrupt contact with another familiar body. “Crete!” Althea exclaimed happily before she even pulled the blind fold off to see her friends’ stern visage. Just as quickly as she had set Althea down, Crete opened the door of the car and shoved her in. 

“Open this door for no one.” She commanded before the girl even had a chance to utter a single word of protest. _There will be time for a reunion later,_ she thought, _perhaps even time to ask for forgiveness._

The tall woman ascended the rungs of an inset ladder with one arm and a strong jump in a blurry cloud of gray and white. D was looking at the point that Aurfeht vanished. 

“I landed a deadly strike.” He muttered, deep in contemplation. 

“He abuses time. Stealing it from here and there to fuel himself. It‘s impossible to kill him, and even if you did, he‘d just use his last ounce of strength to reverse it again...” She said helpfully. 

“No.” D turned the longsword over in his hands, “The bodies must have had their blood mixed with some kind of dulling residue.” 

“How can you tell? Are you sure you weren‘t just too slow?” She chided with a sideways smirk. 

One moment Crete was looking at D’s back. In the next, she was facing him, the brim of his hat obscuring his face from the nose up, the taught curve of his lips visible. His longsword poised in both hands. Only when he lifted the steel from her neck did she feel the slightest release of pressure off the high collar at her throat. She breathed out as her fingers touched where the hard steel had been. Not even the fabric had been cut. 

“Still think I was too slow?” D remarked as he put the sword back in its sheath. He made several graceful leaps up to the main engine car without another word. 

_He could have sliced off my head had he been wrong. So fast... So impossibly fast…_

Aurfeht reappeared several cars behind her and called out, 

“I’m tired of your games, Amun. Give yourself up, and no one else needs to die! Of course, it doesn’t mean they wont, but who‘s keeping score on these things, anyway?” His macabre joke was enjoyed only by himself as his cackle echoed off the metal rooftops. 

“Yes, but if we were keeping score, I’d still say the odds are in my favor. My players are all still on the board, and your already down a bishop.” 

“Don’t give him too much credit. Malthesic was more of a knight, really.” Arufeht tilted his head to one side in contemplation. 

Crete gave a casual sigh, “It doesn’t matter. You’re all nothing but pawns to her, no matter what you consider yourselves.” 

“Atleast being considered a pawn is better than never being considered at all by the Lady Arges.” 

His heckle was cut short by the slender hands that ran along black sheaths behind her. There was a certain mischievous look in her expression as she said “Oh, I think she considers me a great deal. Especially when I still have these in my possession." 

Aurfeht growled, “I’ll skin you with them myself!” 

“I’m afraid someone may have a problem with that.” She responded, ignoring his raw temper. The old time ward didn’t seem to notice at this distance that their sight was not quite lining up. The grin remained plastered on his face as they each bided their time for the right moment. 

“Problem? I see no problem in taking out the trash. You know, Amun, I do miss the old days. The days when you were wild and unburdened by human guilt. The things I saw you do still gives me chills! I always wanted to know: What happened that changed you? What turned you so goddamned pathetic?” He asked, licking back the curiosity. 

_Her slow hop from one car to the next betrayed the urgency of her beating heart. “I suppose you could say time finally caught up with me.” She answered with a slight shrug of honesty._

Crete made it a point not to look at the black skulking body of Doco behind the Time Ward as the dragon hungrily made his way closer, quietly emerging up on an open platform that linked the last two cars together. Aurfeht didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were glued to the steps she took that slowly closed the distance between them with the utmost caution. Aurfeht certainly didn’t live this long among nobles without his razor sharp paranoia. 

“Time, yes... It catches us all eventually.” his smile faded, _“All of us!”_

His haggard remark twisted in the wind as he whirled around and stretched out his hands. In a solid wave, darkness ballooned around the open platform behind him. The original train car that had been there was torn down to a bare shell that kept the tools and stage wood that didn‘t mind the elements. In a flash, he reversed time and transformed the car into its original heavy artillery shell. The act was miraculous, and even more impressive in that he succeeded in trapping Doco inside it at the same time. The Dragon roared angrily, cramped and confined in the tiny space. For a moment, Aurfeht was pleased with himself before he realized he had left his back open to his true enemy. 

He didn’t dare waste precious seconds looking behind him. Instantaneously, he delved into another conjured dark void just as the swipe of Crete’s dagger made contact with the back of his red hood. 

“Bastard.” She muttered as she looked at the dagger’s blade. It was the same one that had pierced the neck of Faustino’s undead corpse. Sure enough, she had sliced through the air with enough power and accuracy to end him, and yet not even the fibers of his painfully worn robe had been cut. She assumed he had mixed some sort of dulling agent with their blood and re-injected it into the corpses. No wonder the blood smelled odd. 

The roof beneath her feet suddenly jolted violently forward, testing her balance. The hem of her caplet billowed up from the sudden surge of howling wind, obscuring her view. Waving it away, the countryside was suddenly whirring by at incredible speed, only it wasn’t the rolling grasslands: It was bare meadows nestled between juts of rock and stone. Even a different sky was overhead. 

The questions on her face spoke for her, and the rhythmic rumble of train tracks underneath gave the answers. The entire caravan had been plunged back in time to the age when it had originally been a military train. The metal alloy beneath her feet shone with a gleam the likes of which not even bird droppings had yet to touch. 

“Well, well! I barely recognize the rat trap! All gleaming and shiny, just like a proper noble artillery train should be. Heehee!” Aurfeht’s disembodied voice sent a peculiar chill up her spine. In the thousand year war, Nobles fought relentlessly. The weaponry created to defend and kill were numerous and inventive. Nobles especially didn’t appreciate hitchhikers on their train system, and sensors removed them immediately. The portions of roof that rose slightly and revealed high powered laser cannons pointed directly at Crete would see to that. 

_†_

D had suspected this might happen. He had heard of Time Wards but hadn’t encountered one of Aurfeht’s skill in quite a long time. He must have been one of the true old ones: Once a powerful brotherhood that served the powers of darkness, the origin of the Time Wards was as mysterious as their skill. It was rumored that very little was known about them because they erased their own past, eradicating any potential knowledge to usurp their power. The old man had done the impossible, placing the entire cast inside of a moment in time. A memory within a memory; A prison within a prison. 

A feat like this couldn’t possibly be easy, and it certainly couldn’t be permanent either. Time was fickle that way. Though the blue sky overhead looked normal at first glance, it seemed almost painted on like a fresh mural on a decaying wall. A great breath of energy had been forced in to create this bubble within a bubble, and D had a feeling that time was running right back out again. The world had been off ever since they entered the middle of the grasslands. Crete may have been too preoccupied to notice, but it was something people with this talent never seemed to account for, and D paid careful attention to: The wind. 

The wind told the truth. It had no morality, loyalty, or master. But it was ally to those who bothered to listen. D pulled a stuck leaf from his coat and released it into the noisy gale. The dry brown leaf cut a path directly to the side instead of behind him and vanished instantly. 

“Looks like if we jump, we’ll be negated into our basic particles.” Announced the gravelly voice in his hand. 

“Swallow it.” D commanded without hesitation. 

His left hand balked at the idea, “Excuse me? I’m gonna need one big damn glass of water to get something like this down! Besides, this train is too big. I can get you through, but everyone else is screwed unless you figure out a way to make the whole train completely weightless for a second.” 

D looked up at the curve of the track as it bent around the side of the mountain and  
over a bridge scaling across the steep valley gorge nearly a mile away. A sudden thunderous crack shook the heavens. The blinding light of a high power laser beam pierced through the clouds above and collided with the bridge, decimating it into a symphony of explosions and melting metal. The track was demolished, leaving the train only minutes until it’s demise. The laser most likely came from a rival Noble, bent on starving his enemy of supplies. This must have been the reason why the train had been given a second life as a roving caravan: it had met a gruesome end in its first life at the bottom of a three thousand foot drop. 

He raised an eyebrow to the impending doom as he muttered, “Lifting it off the track might do the trick.” D regarded his hand sternly, “you’re timing is going to have to be beyond impeccable for this.” 

His left hand chuckled, “don‘t you worry your pretty face. You just get me what I need!” 

† 

The last of the roof cannons shrieked with an electric buzz as tendrils of lightening lashed out reflexively to the crushing stomp of Cretes landing. She crouched atop it momentarily before leaping backwards in a graceful vault. Though every action timed precisely, and every movement intentional, the smoking soles and clean burn holes through her cape made it clear that it had been no simple task to dispatch laser canons. Aurfeht had busied himself by pulling his roughly hewn knife through her skin, organs, and tendons, only to disappear before receiving any reciprocation. His damned cackle was almost as annoying as the painful wounds that laced across her body. Blood soaked through grey cloth that slowly stitched itself back together again. The wounds themselves did not weave back so easily. 

Her haggard stance bore the mark of a warrior worn threadbare and finally fell to one knee. She caught her breath and looked over her shoulder to the caravan behind her. It rocked violently as the dragon continued to desperately break out of his metal cage, despite it being impossible for even a creature of his strength to break through nearly a foot of dense metal alloy. He must have been terribly cramped. 

_Be still, Doco. _Un’trava le’durn us…_ _

She tried to still him with her thoughts, but she could tell he wouldn’t be in a state to listen. The very nature of a dragon preferred the wide open expanses over small corners and stuffing him like a boney meat sausage into a hot tin can was not going well for the beast. Like many of the worlds untamed wonders, he wasn’t meant to be in a cage. Any powers that ever forced their will on him were always met with vicious retaliation and fury. It was in his nature to always be free. How could she quell that which was so close in spirit to her own? 

Aurfeht reappeared before Crete, but said nothing. His eyes lapped up the pitiful sight of his enemy in disarray. A ghoulish smile crept along his face, and with it instilled the same dragging ebb in her mind. The feeling of being trapped was like drowning without water, a desperate scramble for life and living: Not unlike an inconsolable dragon clawing at her insides to escape… 

Somewhere in those rotten teeth and parched dry smiling lips, she could see the hard truth that Aurfeht would never stop. There was no reasoning with the likes of him. There never was. She closed her eyes, heavy with the weight of resolve as her mind drifted. 

_This is where I take one more step towards death._

___With a sharp catch in her breath, she rose up and swept her hands over the handles of the two crossed swords at her back. Thin fingers clamped over black handles in a steely resolve._ _ _

___“You think you’re so fast, Aurfeht. ‘As fast as time itself’ I heard them say once.”_ _ _

___She wanted to look down her nose at him, the way that she knew always irritated him about the Nobility. He flipped the small blade in his hand like a baton, mocking her expression,_ _ _

___“Here and there, they say that. But I only have to be faster than you, poppet.”_ _ _

___“But are you faster than your own fate? Are you faster than the hell that has been waiting for you-- _Chasing_ you all these years?” _ _ _

___She smiled a bit then. That wry half smile that hid self-doubt so cleverly. A smooth ’click’ sounded as the wakizashi style blades were loosened from their snug sheaths, like the 6 shooter of a lone gunman ready for the 12 o‘ clock bell. His ears focused on that sound as it seemed to stretch on in the instant it took for black ebony blades to shoot out from their sheaths and fly towards him at incredible speed._ _ _

____This is when it hurts._ _ _ _

___His smile diminished slowly. All he could see was the gossamer blur of grey and white and black. He felt a horrific pain in his gut, even as he sank back into the rip in space the blade seemed to almost carry with him, even though he was certain nothing but himself could travel in the spaces between. With a wave of his hand another hole spat him out on the roof top a cars length ahead, but this time he stumbled out instead of his usual grand entrance. He clutched his stomach and pulled away from what he felt there. His hooded eyes stared for a moment in awe of his own blood: More of a coagulated molasses of slime, than blood. Like that from a corpse… Like that from the corpses he had-- No! He thought. He wouldn’t have this, he refused! This is not how reality works, This is impossible!_ _ _

___He looked over at Crete, who stood hunched over. Not from pain but from possession. Her face told a tale of pain and terror but more than that, of pure elated joy. Her face had twisted savage with hunger. Her lips upturned into a smile broken and bleeding from the pristine sharpness of lengthened canine teeth. A faint red glow emanated from the pit of blackness that engulfed the whites of her eyes._ _ _

___“What’s wrong?” a silky voice carried across the howling wind just for him to hear clear as day, “Did I cut you?”_ _ _

___Aurfeht could feel the stiffness and gut wrenching pain of the thick fluid beginning to course through his veins. It was the terror that the circus folk must have felt. He could have killed them all mercifully, but he hadn’t. He had ordered those bandits to impale them while still alive with poison-tipped spikes and laughed as they wriggled in their death throws like fish bait. As the toxin ripped through their bodies, turning their blood into mush and boiling their brains into flesh hungry monsters, he took a genuine joy from their misery just as he always did. If this was a start to his own personal hell, he had at least come by it honestly._ _ _

___He could swear that he began to hear screams in his head, but not from his own memory: from theirs. He tore at his red hood and clamped his face between his hands in a desperate effort to make it stop as the wails became louder. He looked at Crete. He looked into eyes that weren’t hers anymore, but those of a demon. The weapons in her hands emanated a dark presence and he knew were somehow the cause of this agony._ _ _

___Suddenly the car pitched to the side as a shock wave jolted the train, snapping Aurfeht out of his misery long enough to look ahead and see the engine car dip over the edge of the broken tracks. They were thousands of feet in the air high above the center of the canyon. The end was near for all of them, and his face twisted back in a grin of madness._ _ _

___“Guess it‘s check mate, Amun! I’ll at least live long enough to sift through the pieces to claim your head as a trophy!”_ _ _

___Her head tilted to the side as she rolled the word in her smiling red mouth._ _ _

___“trophy…”_ _ _

___It was barely even her voice anymore. What came out of her mouth spoke in a tone that had been given a most extraordinary idea as she looked over the size and width of his head._ _ _

___Aurfeht threw open his arms in a desperate plea to call forth an escape portal, but let out a piercing shriek instead. He looked down to see the broad muscle bound body of Jagus with a pig-sticker in his hand, plunged straight through the top of the old mans foot. He must have ran after D and Crete and stowed away on the train without any of them noticing._ _ _

___“This is for my brothers, you sum' bitch!”_ _ _

___Aufeht took his withered hand and snatched it hard around Jagus’s wrapped and bloodied forearm. The hulking man cried out, instantly reminded of Crete’s previous punishment. He yanked the man up with a force surprisingly powerful for an old wretch and sent him sailing to the other end of the car._ _ _

___“Little meddling prick! Away with you!”_ _ _

___Jagus made a guttural noise as he slammed into the metal roof and rolled off the other side, seemingly to his death. Down below at the beginning of the plummeting train, seconds before it’s date with destiny in the icy river, a gravelly voice yelled out,_ _ _

___“This is gonna be rough! Get ready!”_ _ _

___His left hand was clenching the metal of the train with such force it left an indention in the alloy. The fingernails digging in like rocks ebbing the flow of steel water. A flame had appeared in the center of its tiny mouth before attaching itself like a sucker fish to the metal. A fateful kiss of luck and supernatural mystery that bore the weight of all their fates._ _ _

____This is where you die_ _ _ _

___Possessed by the blades that shook violently in her death-like grip, Crete burst into a dash of lighting speed. Her arms crossed each other at the precipice of a graceful leap towards his head. Had he a little time to recognize the familiarity of it, he would have remembered this image: People with their arms pinned at the sides by grey and white jackets with nothing but animal ferocity in their eyes to stave off the madness of infection; the curse of the once bitten, slaves of the Nobility condemned to “camps“ and “sanitariums“. The ones who had bore witness to the depths of true darkness, and not the strength to retain the knowledge found there. They were pitied, but not feared. Not by the likes of Aurfeht. Certainly not like this._ _ _

___The old time ward tried to escape but his foot was pinned by the blade, that married flesh and metal with a blooming pool of crimson. The carts of the train began to fall one by one as they careened off the tracks and into the thin blue thread of river hundreds of meters below. Crete brought the blades down scissored against each other. As they began to slice through either side of his neck, the cart became airborne. Time slowed to a single moment of pain, savagery, death, and weightlessness. Their eyes eternally locked in this place as victim and victor. A blinding light enveloped and erased the world, turning it pure again._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 
> 
> "Be still, Doco. Un’trava le’durn us…" - Be still, Doco. You will hurt yourself.

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome any, and all feedback. It keeps me motivated to continue my stories, and make them better for others to enjoy. Please leave me a comment or send me a message, telling me what you think! :)


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